


In Hindsight

by Emerald_Leaves



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Adventure, Friendship, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Moral Lessons, graphic descriptions of wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Leaves/pseuds/Emerald_Leaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli sets off on an adventure all his own, but it does not go exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hindsight

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is a hurt/comfort story, and throughout the story there are descriptions of injuries and the necessary steps towards recovery that some may find graphic. Please do be warned.

In hindsight, this was probably a very, very bad idea. In fact, if he managed to live through this, he was pretty sure his father would kill him once he returned. Would that be irony? Whatever it was, it would be dreadfully unpleasant, but Gimli supposed he would have to weather his father’s—and worse, his mother’s— displeasure once he got back.

… If he got back. 

Sighing as he looked around his little camp, the young dwarf decided that maybe it would have been better to enlist Fíli and Kíli on this trip after all. Hell, even Ori would have been a decent companion. But no, he’d been so proud, too full of himself, and had refused to even think about asking the other young lords to accompany him out east. Besides, he’d never really even told them what he was doing, and despite his rather frivolous nature, Fíli was developing a rather nasty stroke of responsibility. If wind of this trip would have caught the blond’s attention, Gimli was sure it would have been over before he’d managed to step boot outside.

But as it was, he hadn’t told anyone what he was doing, nor invited his sometime-friends to join him on this quest. Instead, he’d managed to sneak away from Ered Luin to set off alone so that he could witness the splendor of the old tales― to see Erebor, the Lonely Mountain.

Of course Gimli was not normally the kind of dwarf to run off and do something so stupid—that was Fíli and Kíli’s specialty. Normally he was the sort that did as he was told and didn’t question his superiors. Normally he worked hard to be the model dwarf. There were no thoughts of rushing off on adventures, no giving in to whimsy and fancy. But after a rather heated argument with his friends, Gimli couldn’t stand it anymore. He didn’t like that the others thought he was boring and dull― that he was ‘uninspired.’ 

And so that’s what had brought Gimli this far on his quest to see Erebor. He would prove to Fíli and Kíli that he could be spontaneous. That he was not so stiff and unimaginative. For the first time in his life he’d given in to impulsive and fanciful desire. In an act of complete selfishness, he’d left behind his home, his family, his friends, his safety, just so he could get a glimpse of the ancestral home that had been taken from his people. All the better that he would be the first of his friends to actually see it in person, leaving behind imagination, given way to reality. 

But this adventure of his had been anything but easy. Leaving Ered Luin had been difficult in not getting caught or seen by passing dworrow. Gimli had been extremely careful in his sneaking, making sure none saw him until he made it to the Hills of Evendium. From there, he’d had a rather pleasant trip through the little hills, but steered himself northward, passing near the North Downs. It was as he passed close to the old kingdom of Angmar and the Ettenmoors that he had run into some trouble with packs of orc and goblins. Thankfully the bands hadn’t been very big, and he’d managed to either slaughter all of the enemies that had come his way or bypass them completely. 

Fortunately the worst of his travels was over now (or so he hoped). He’d made it through the Misty Mountains all on his own without much difficulty other than having to dodge more than one avalanche of rock and endure the blistering cold rains and howling winds. But he was through and the travelling was sure to be easier. 

Just out of the mountains, the young dwarf had decided it was time to stop for the night. Taking out his map, Gimli looked it over, trying to decide where he was. From what he could see, where he’d come out from the Misty Mountains, and should now be camping on the east side of the Anduin River. At least, he thought it was the Anduin. He didn’t see another river on the map that could be where he’d turned up. And besides, he could just make out the shadow of Mirkwood looming before him in the distance. 

Despite the beginnings of regret, Gimli found pride in himself. His father was always going on and on about how young Gimli was, about how he couldn’t handle being on his own, or how he couldn’t take care of himself. Well, here he was, miles and miles away from home, having crossed nearly the entire world all by himself. He hadn’t needed anyone. It was a great accomplishment, one that made the young dwarf feel rather pleased. He’d like to see either Fíli or Kíli do this! 

Turning back to his map, trying not to become too overconfident, the dwarf pulled out some dried meat to chew on before making his next plan of action. Mirkwood lay before him, but for all his bravado, not even Gimli was willing to take on the dark wood. He’d heard some pretty nasty stories coming out of that black forest. Between rumors of giant spiders and wild elves, the young dwarf decided not the risk going in without back up. 

So, deciding that since he was so far north anyway, he might as well see the Grey Mountains and bypass Mirkwood all together, coming into Erebor from the north. It would be cold, certainly, but he’d come prepared, and had even stalked up at the last town he’d passed through, gathering furs and dried provisions. He could take the cold. It was summer now after all, and it would probably be warmer than he thought anyway. 

Smiling, feeling accomplished, the dwarf leaned back, looking around his small camp. His little fire crackled merrily and it was a rather quiet evening, only the sounds of nature, the river running just within sight, whispering in the dusk. It was peaceful, though it was not as soothing to the dwarf as being within a mountain, but it was restful all the same. He was just beginning to relax, perhaps get a few hours of sleep since the area was secure, when he noticed his water skins were empty. 

Scowling at the offending object, Gimli knew he should probably fill it now as opposed to later. So, dragging himself up from his comfortable position, he wandered closer to the river. It was getting dark out, the sun dipping down out of the sky. Already nightly insects were beginning their chorus in the dusk, but the dwarf didn’t pay them much mind. All he wanted was to get his water and then go to sleep. It had been a long day of travel. He deserved some rest. 

He leaned down and had just managed to fill his water skins, and turned to leave, when something caught his eye. Rotating back around, the dwarf stared off into the distance, to the other side of the river. There seemed to be… something. 

Frowning, Gimli squinted, willing his eyes to make out what was just beyond. It looked…shiny. No, no, that wasn’t the right word. It was pale, and while it shone in the darkening night, it wasn’t shiny. But it did seem to…glow a bit. Somehow. No, that wasn’t quite right either, was it? It caught the reflection of the light, perhaps? 

After a minute of fruitless query, Gimli was about to shrug off the object as just something his mind was trying to make out of nothing, when the rushing water dislodged the object from where it had been held in place. It began floating with the current closer to the dwarf. In that moment, in the churning waves, the image of an arm made itself clear. 

It was a person! 

Cursing in Westron and Khuzdul, the young dwarf rushed into the water until he was waist deep, just managing to catch onto the boot of the unfortunate soul before it passed out of reach. The man was tall, but thin, not nearly as heavy as Gimli would have expected, even in the water. But he didn’t worry about that. Instead, the dwarf made it his top priority to get the man out of the water; everything else could be dealt with later. 

And when he had accomplished that feat, dragging the man― boy?―out, Gimli placed his ear over the young one’s chest. He wasn’t breathing. So, turning the stranger onto his side, after wiping away some of the mud from around the lad’s mouth and nose, ignoring all the muck that was fouling up his clothes, Gimli began hitting the boy on the back. It took several good, solid thwacks before the still body lurched forward to life, dirty water spewing out of white lips. The lad began coughing violently before he eventually vomited, forcing Gimli to help sit the other being up so he wouldn’t choke on his own fluids. And when the stranger had emptied his bowls, he fell limp almost instantly. 

It took a moment for Gimli to shake himself out of his surprise and adrenalin before looking around, trying to detect anyone else out there. There was no one, not a soul. The night was still, just as it had been moments before. The river rushed on, the insects and birds chirped, and the warm wind rustled the leaves on the tree tops. There was only him and the boy he had dragged out of death’s grasp.

Feeling queasy himself, dwarf knew he was going to have to make some pretty hard decisions. Since there was no one else around, the responsibility of the lad now fell to him, as did all critical choices. The first being; what was he going to do with the boy? Placing his ear once more over the chest, the dwarf knew that the lad was breathing, but it sounded awfully wet and labored. 

Panic surged through the young dwarf when he spied an arrow shaft sticking out of the boy’s shoulder, perilously close to his neck. And even covered in mud, Gimli thought he could see blood seeping out of the boy’s left leg and side to the right. Whatever had happened to the lad hadn’t been an accident. This man had been through a fight, an orc brawl from the look of it, if the arrow was anything to go by. 

Pulling aside the filthy locks of unexpectedly long hair, trying to get a better view of the boy’s face, Gimli was once again rudely surprised when his hand brushed against delicately leaf-shaped pointed ear. 

This wasn’t a man, a human youngling he’d found. This was an elf! The realization had the dwarf weak in the knees. 

Instead of the clear path from before, three options had unexpectedly opened up. The first being that he could just leave the elf here. Walk away. Do nothing. The second was to clean the elf up a bit, bind the wounds, and be on his way, hoping that one of its kinsmen would be along shortly to collect it. The last― and most difficult decision―would be to take the elf back to his camp, clean him up, tend to the wounds, and then stay with the elf and nurse it back to full health. If he walked away or left right after seeing to the elf’s injuries, there ran the very great chance that the elf would die. But if Gimli stayed, tended to the damage properly, then he ran the risk of running into a group of angry elves. Elves that would no doubt accuse him of a whole host of invented charges. 

In truth, it would be easiest to walk away from this − pretend he’d never seen the elf before. Maybe he should even dump it back in the water? That’s no less than the creature deserved. No dwarf would blame him for the action. In fact, his family might have encouraged him to do just that if they were here. 

But that went against Gimli’s nature. Despite being rather gruff and grumpy, as his friends’ teased, his nature was ultimately one of concern and care. True, he was no healer, but Gimli knew he would never be able to live with himself if he let this elf die. The face, muddied as it was, would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

So, with that in mind, the dwarf lifted the elf as best as he could to bear it back to camp. The elf was surprisingly light and rather easy to carry despite its height. The short journey was only awkward because the long legs of the forest creature dragged on the ground a bit, and the head of the elf lulled lifelessly back, its arms nearly touching the ground. It was most certainly a comical sight, seeing such a short being carrying a tall one, but Gimli ignore the image and made his way back to his camp as carefully as he could. 

It was difficult to lay the elf out without dropping it on the ground. A lot of ungainly bending was required, and just before the dwarf was able to set down his unexpected charge, he remembered the elf was soaking wet, getting him wet as well. Now, Gimli wasn’t sure about elves, but because of the injury, the dwarf began worrying about the elf catching a chill. The clothes would need to be changed.

Plan made, the dwarf was able to set the injured being down as best he could before rummaging through his pack for some extra, dry clothing. Nothing would fit correctly, of course, the elf being so much taller and at least several inches smaller around the middle, but it would have to do.

With some extra blankets wrapped around the elf, it wouldn’t make much difference anyway. The forest creature wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, so Gimli set to cleaning up the mud and stripping the elf of his wet gear and clothing. 

Taking off the leather straps for a quiver still amazingly attached to its back and the leather armor wasn’t so very bad or difficult. The surprising amount of knives hidden on the elf astonished the dwarf, but then, it was looking as though the elf was from Mirkwood. Those were said to be a dangerous people, those elves that lived in the black wood. 

No, multiple knives, in the end, did not surprise the dwarf after all. It was not hard to take off the weapons or armor. What did become terribly awkward was when Gimli began stripping off the soaking clothes. It hadn’t occurred to him before how embarrassing this situation would be until that moment. What if someone saw him? What if the elf woke up while he was changing it? 

It can’t be helped, Gimli thought with a growl and set back to work, trying to be as detached as possible. 

When he came to down to the boy’s undergarments, the dwarf was beat red, but determined to do what he could to care for the injured creature. Pale skin was dangerously ashen, the areas around the wounds enflamed, blazing red. As observed before, there was a nasty gash wound on the elf’s side, bleeding quite freely, while the leg looked to have been cut, but mostly bruised an alarmingly deep purple. And of course there was the arrow wound to the elf’s shoulder, too close to the neck. 

After cleaning up the mud, Gimli set to work wrapping up the side and leg wound first, spreading what ointment and salve he had brought with him. Once that was finished, he quickly and carefully clothed the elf in his extra clothes. As predicted, they were far too short for the Eldar, its long pale calves quite visible, and the sleeves of the long shirt going up just shy of its elbow. But the important thing was it was dry and helped stave off chill. 

With the relatively minor wounds taken care of and the elf dressed in dry clothes, the young dwarf turned his attention back to the arrow still sticking out of the elf’s neck. It was a black, mean looking shaft. From the grimace still on the elf’s face, it was no doubt painful. Knowing this, Gimli took several deep breaths before grabbing the shaft hilt and pulling hard. 

Although it shouldn’t have surprised Gimli when the elf let out a pained cry, the dwarf still jumped. But pushing aside the shock, the young dwarf quickly applied pressure on the now freely bleeding wound, glad that the arrow had come out on the first try and that it appeared not to have broken off into pieces into the flesh. So as soon as the elf stopped its weak thrashing, Gimli began the task of applying the ointment his uncle had made and trying his best to wrap the awkwardly placed injury. And at last, when all that was taken care of, finally Gimli moved the elf onto the blanket by the fire and proceeded to wrap the creature up as snuggly and warmly as possible. 

The entire process had taken over an hour, by now the sun light all but gone, and the night cooling. Sitting back, completely exhausted, the dwarf decided that if he sat still too long he might just fall asleep. But the wind blowing through his camp sent a light chill over him, reminding Gimli that his clothes were still wet and needed drying. 

So, forcing himself to stand, he quickly changed into the only other set of clothes he had at the moment, and set his boots by the fire beside the elf’s to dry. When that was finished, he looked back over at the invalid and realized that the being’s long hair was still caked with mud, leaves and twigs sticking out of it haphazardly. 

Sighing, not exactly wanting to wash anyone’s hair, Gimli ground his teeth and stood, making his way back to the river with his water skins, knowing he had to clean his patient’s hair. It would do no good for either of them if he neglected this task. It could potentially make the elf’s condition worse, and that would only add stress and worry onto the dwarf. 

Several minutes later found the red-beard scrubbing the elf’s hair, a blush on his face. Gimli was just glad none of his friends were here to see him now. He wasn’t sure he could survive the embarrassment of Fíli and Kíli’s taunts about being an elven nursemaid. The shame of waiting on an elf hand and foot burned in his gut, but then, it wasn’t like there was any other choice. If Gimli didn’t care for the elf, it would die, and if it died, it would weigh on his conscious for the rest of his life. 

It took several trips to the river to get water to fully clean the elf’s hair, and then several long minutes to heat up the water. But when it was all clean, the mud and grime washed away, Gimli found himself looking at the elf differently. It wasn’t dark hair that greeted him, as he’d first believed, but pale golden, almost silver. The few elves that he could boast to having seen back west all had dark, almost black hair with dark blue eyes, the color of the night. This elf, however, was not like that at all. It had such pale hair, and probably light eyes to go with it. Its skin was perfectly porcelain save around the wounds, and it seemed much thinner and taller than the elves back west too. It was a completely different breed. 

Shaking his head from such strange thoughts, the dwarf went about brewing some tea that he might give the elf should it wake. The faster it got better, the faster Gimli could be on his way. And the sooner he was on his way, the sooner he could behold the fabled peak of Erebor. Just the thought of that mysterious mountain nearly had the dwarf buzzing with excitement. The night was clear and warm, good for traveling. It wouldn’t take him long to break camp and be on his way, getting ever closer to the mountain of his ancestors…

But he couldn’t. 

Staring over at the pale face of the elf reminded him of that. Until the forest dweller was on the mend and could return to its people, Gimli was stuck with it. But if rumor and old tales proved true, Gimli hoped he wouldn’t be burdened with the creature for too much long. Elves were said to be swift healers. What that meant, the dwarf was not completely sure, but he wished that it meant the elf would be up and walking within a few days or so. Or maybe some of its kin would come by looking for this one? 

That wasn’t a very pleasant thought, actually. A bunch of angry elves surrounding his nice little camp and shouting at him and threatening to harm him wasn’t exactly something he wanted to deal with. And if this elf was anything to go by, his companions were all probably armed to the teeth. All Gimli could hope was that they would listen to his side of the story before they tried to slit his throat. Maybe this elf would even be awake by then and could vouch for him? Although it wouldn’t surprise the dwarf if the bastard would only wake up first during some commotion and accuse Gimli of hurting him in the first place. 

It was said around Ered Luin that the son of Glóin didn’t have the best of luck. 

Weariness settled into the dwarf’s bones, one he would not admit to anyone, but felt all the same. What had started out as a pleasant evening of optimism had quickly turned into a struggle of morality― a stranger’s battle between life and death. 

Funny how fate worked. 

That was the last thought the dwarf had before his eyelids slid closed and sleep claimed him. 

oOoOoOo

Gimli woke with a start, confused and afraid, when a deep, low moan sounded beside him. In his sleep addled mind, he first thought there were wargs nearby. Grabbing his axe, he held it in hand, eyes wildly scanning the area as he hopped to his feet. But after a moment, when nothing came at him and he listened to the night, he realized he was still alone. 

Except he wasn’t. 

Another moan had the dwarf glancing down, and his brain caught up with him. The elf. It had been the elf. 

His first thought was to be annoyed with the Eldar for…not scaring him, but startling him (there was a difference!). Gimli’d been having a rather lovely dream of being in an actual bed, too. Now he’d never recapture that perfection. 

But after a moment, when he actually looked at the elf, heard it moan, the dwarf picked up on the utter agony in the sound, saw the pain twisting up the fair features. Something was horribly wrong. 

A sense of panic stole over the dwarf, and before he knew what he was doing, the red-beard was down on his knees, looking his patient over. Peeling back to blanket, at first glance, Gimli couldn’t see anything inherently wrong. The wounds were still nicely kept, and the forest creature had been properly wrapped up and kept warm. But taking another look, a real problem made itself known. 

The shoulder wound, near his neck. Staring at the bandages, Gimli realized that they were soiled. And not with blood. 

It was decided that a closer inspection was needed. But when the dwarf touched the elf in his attempt to remove the bandage, the fair creature screamed. The tenor sang agony, eyes screwing up in suffering, causing the dwarf to pale. He hadn’t meant to hurt it! He’d just…he’d barely touched the creature! 

“Ai!” the elf whimper, glassy blue eyes peeling open for the first time. 

Gimli froze, his insides turning to liquid. While cloudy, the eyes that stared at him were cold, piercing. They were the bluest orbs the dwarf had ever seen. Frosty, sharp, even in its current state. And the color…it was purer than the most prized sapphires. The shade would, no doubt, only improve once the immortal recovered. 

But as the creature of stone and earth continued to stare, feeling oddly terrified, even as he was mystified by the beauty he saw in the eyes before him, the elf broke contact first, a low groan escaping. Once it looked away, Gimli felt as though he were released, freed from a prison he hadn’t known he’d fallen into. It was an unwelcomed sensation, unwelcomed because he didn’t like the idea of this thing having so much power over him with just a look. 

“Lay still,” the dwarf was amazed to find his voice. “You’re…you’re hurt.”

“A-anno dulu e-enni,” the elf moaned, stalling the dwarf’s movements. “Fangon... iesten.”

Again, a sense of terror overcame the dwarf, and for a moment, he stared stupidly at the feverish creature. He did not understand, and it frustrated him more than it should have. After all, everyone knew that in times of distress beings fell back to their native languages. But even knowing this, Gimli wished that the stupid elf would just speak Westron! 

“I need to look at yer wound,” he muttered, pointing slowly to the shoulder. 

The elf tried to move its head, as if to follow the dwarf’s finger, but ended up crying out in pain from the movement. “Anno dulu enni,” it cried, much more urgently this time. “Iesten!” 

Had it been any other circumstance Gimli might have felt compelled to be insulted by the obvious demands. Yet, the order in the tone mixed so thoroughly with a plea that the dwarf didn’t have the heart to be annoyed. Instead he felt more flustered than before. If only his uncle were here! Òin would know how to care for the creature! 

“Hold still,” he ended up saying, his voice much more gentle than it normally was. “Lay still. I need to look at yer shoulder.”

The elf began shaking, but glassy eyes stared at the dwarf. Closing its eyes, the forest being took a deep breath before muttering wearily, “Be iest lín.” 

It passed out again after that. 

It was a great relief that the elf was no longer conscious, and Gimli intended to make the most of it. Obviously the Eldar was hurting. Probably wasn’t even coherent, not knowing what it was saying. But somehow the dwarf got the feeling that the elf understood at least that Gimli was trying to help. He would take that as a sign from Mahal that he was at least doing the right thing. 

So, taking off the bandage, being sure to work slowly, carefully, Gimli at last saw the wound and flinched. It was repulsive. Puss, dark, almost black, was seeping out of the arrow wound, the skin around it an angry red. If he hadn’t felt pity for the elf before, he certainly did now. 

A poison arrow. 

That’s what had done this. He’d seen it before. The poison slowly ate away a creature from the inside out if it wasn’t taken care of immediately. Why hadn’t he thought about the possibility of poison sooner? It was just like those filthy orc to use such terrible things on their arrows. 

He’d seen this type of wound before, but unlike in the past, Gimli frowned grimly at the opening of the wound. It had been healing. Sealing closed. The magic of elves was legendary, their healing apparently as swift as the old tales suggested. But in this case, it was working against the benefit of the creature. 

Staring at the puss, the young dwarf knew that it had to be milked from the wound, had to be allowed to seep out. Yet with the rate of elvish healing, the opening would close itself again too soon, before the poison could drain sufficiently. The elf would not survive. Not unless drastic action was taken. 

Trembling, knowing exactly what had to be done, but feeling sick for having to do it, Gimli took up one of the elf’s smaller daggers. Turning towards the fire, he built up the flame until it was blazing. Trying not to think, trying to wipe out every dark thought that threatened to creep up, the dwarf stuck the blade into the fire, watching it heat. 

The blade needed to cool for a few moments, so, turning back to the elf, the red-beard sighed. “Yer gunna have t’ hold still,” he muttered, more to himself than his patient. And once the blade appeared sufficiently cool, Gimli held his breath. 

“Here we go,” he murmured, angling the blade, still trembling, before slicing into the elf’s skin. 

Immediately, reddened eyes snapped open, a terrible scream bursting from the fair throat. “Baw!” the elf sobbed, even as Gimli held it down, continuing his work. “Baw! Daro! Ai!” it continued to scream, tears running down its face. 

It was good that the elf was so weak, otherwise its caretaker wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold the creature down. The elf thrashed weakly, but it did not deter Gimli from his task. Instead, he held down on the forest being firmly. And once he was finished slicing a sufficient sized opening, the dwarf began squeezing as gently as he could around the wound. Puss instantly burst out with a sickening crunch feeling, flowing down on the ground near the elf’s hair. 

“Daro!” the elf continued to sob. “DARO!” 

“Hold still,” Gimli grunted, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach as he continued to squeeze out the puss. Between its sickly oozing and the elf’s tormented cries, the dwarf was amazed he hadn’t emptied his stomach yet. The smell alone could nauseate anyone. 

But after several horrid minutes of struggling with his surprisingly strong patient, Gimli deemed the wound as clean as it could be for the time being. He’d gotten out all he could of the puss, now he just had to wrap the wound back up so nothing could get in. By that point, the elf had passed out, somehow looking paler than before. 

Still shaky, the dwarf managed to patch up the wound before he set to work cleaning up the puss that was covering the ground. It was absolutely vile. He managed to scoop most of it up before carrying it away from the camp. He dug a hole and poured the bloody mess into the ground. As he watched it plop down, thick as molasses, at last, nausea took him. 

Staggering away, Gimli was ashamed to admit that he emptied his stomach. For several long minutes he knelt down on the ground, vomiting and dry heaving. His nerves had caught up to him, and his mind took him back to what he had just done. He’d never purposefully done something like that to anyone. He’d only ever taken up a knife to an enemy. Cutting into the flesh of another being without it being a dark creature, that was…was…

He started dry heaving again. How could his uncle stand to do this? Even though Gimli knew he had been doing what had to be done, it was still not easy. He couldn’t imagine having to do such a thing as a career. Causing such suffering in the name of healing? A new found respect for Òin sprang within the young dwarf. It took an especially strong will and desire to help to do what his uncle did. 

After a time he sat up on his knees, looking out at the water just before him. Knowing he was a mess now, Gimli stood shakily and staggered towards the river. He spent several long minutes scrubbing his hands and beard, attempting to remove all the sick that had seeped in. And once that was taken care of, he walked back to the hole he’d dug, and without looking in, kicked dirt over it. 

The dwarf took a long, deep breath before blowing it out slowly, trying to calm himself. Then, not wanting to leave his patient alone for too much longer, wandered back to camp. It was only then that he noticed it was nearing dawn. He’d actually slept longer than he’d thought. 

The camp was quiet and still when Gimli returned, and he found himself all but rushing towards the elf. It was lying very still, its eyes closed tightly, the only color on its face the dark bruises under its eyes. Had there not been a slight rise and fall of its crest, the dwarf might have thought it had died… 

He, Gimli realized, suddenly struck guilty. The elf is a he. 

After the suffering he’d caused, the dwarf found he couldn’t hold on to his prejudice quite as tightly. Despite being an elf, the creature was still one of light. Gimli had watched as the elf cried, begged, pleaded, suffered. Elf or not, he was still a person, and the dwarf found he could no longer continue to pretend the elf wasn’t. 

“Wish I knew yer name,” the dwarf said out loud, surprising himself. But he meant it. He wished he knew the elf’s name. It would help him solidify his understanding that the creature was still a living, real being. Not just a species or a generic face to be hated as dictated by the ancestors. 

But there was little chance of coming to know the elf’s name any time soon. Looking at the lad, Gimli could tell that the elf would be unconscious for a while. He’d been thoroughly traumatized last he was awake; there would be no rush to wakefulness again. And, quite frankly, the dwarf wasn’t sure he could handle looking into those blue eyes so soon. 

So, sitting back, deciding to keep vigil over his patient, the dwarf sat, praying to Mahal that the worst was behind them. 

oOoOoOo

As it was, the worst was far from behind. The poison continued to ravage the elf’s body, forcing the dwarf to keep reopening the wound to bleed it. Each time the elf woke screaming, begging for him to stop. Or at least that was what Gimli interpreted the words as. There was little else they could be, other than curses. 

But each time he reopened the wound, the elf’s thrashes became a little more wildly than the last. After the seventh forced reopening, the elf had managed to sit up, startling the dwarf, and made an attempt to flee. Gimli had been forced to wrap one arm around the creature’s middle to keep him from struggling to his feet and harming himself further. 

Unfortunately, while under such stress, the elf ended up vomiting. The dwarf watched in horror as the ancient being retched, groaning and sobbing in absolute misery. Sympathizing with the agony the other must have been going through, Gimli released his hold on the forest creature and watched as the elf nearly collapsed into the pool of his own filth. 

Cursing in Khuzdul, the dwarf caught his patient, and tried to sooth the lad as best as he could. Gimli was not a very comforting person by nature. He was gruff and stubborn and liked to think that he could handle everything by himself. But when it came to nursing or other such consoling things, he was all but useless. He wasn’t sure what would be interpreted as nice or not by an elf, at any rate, and so ended up patting the other’s back as softly as he could. He couldn’t see the elf’s reaction as the golden hair was draped all around boy’s face, hiding him away. 

“Easy, laddie. Easy,” he kept his tone as gentle as he could. “Just calm down. You’ll make it worse.”

When the elf was indeed calmer, panting and shivering, Gimli decided that the worst was over at the moment, and helped guide the other being back to his bed to lie down. Thankfully the elf didn’t protest, and allowed the dwarf to cover him up. If misery had a face, it would have been that of this elf. 

Careful not to frighten the poor boy anymore, Gimli slowly reached out and grabbed his canteen. He made a point in showing the elf what he was doing, before bringing it to the lad’s mouth. “Drink,” he commanded softly. 

Red eyes stared up at their caretaker with obvious pain, and wariness. Somewhere in the span of the four days together, the elf had become at least a little more aware of what was going on, and with it came the quite natural and―dare Gimli say it―appropriate response to finding a rival race caring for him. A suspicion had come over the previously helpless features, yet the elf was at least smart enough to have grasped that if Gimli were going to kill him, he would have done so already. But then again, with the type of care the dwarf was being forced to implement, it was a wonder the Eldar hadn’t tried to kill him yet. 

So, while blue eyes narrowed, the forest creature allowed the canteen to be brought to his lips, and he took in a little water before pulling away. When he did, it was obvious he was swishing his mouth out before he spit the fouled contents on the ground. When the lad settled again, Gimli held the canteen to the dried lips, not saying a word. 

It was a chore to get the elf still once the water was put away, but eventually it was done. And knowing he needed to clean up the sick, with only a sigh, the dwarf stood up and began doing his best to sweep it away with several large leaved branches he’d found for just the occasion. He didn’t even realize the elf was still awake and watching until he was finished. 

“Amman?” the voice was scratchy, tired. 

Not understanding, but knowing that a response was needed, the dwarf wandered back towards his patient and grabbed the canteen again. “Here,” he said, thinking perhaps the elf was still thirsty. It was good to keep him hydrated, at any rate, between the loss of blood and then now with the vomiting. Maybe he would make some more broth and see if the elf could keep it down? 

“Amman?” the elf asked again, more urgently this time. 

“Easy, laddie,” Gimli murmured, helping him sit up and drink. The elf did not protest the action. “There now. I’ll…uh, I’ll need to work on your shoulder again,” he pointed to the wound, still raw and open and scarring horribly. 

A shudder ran through the elf, and when he looked back up at the dwarf, there were tears in his eyes, but he did not speak. Instead, the elf closed his eyes, an expression of acceptance on his face. It had not occurred to Gimli before, but perhaps the elf understood more than he’d previously thought. Maybe he could understand Westron? The dwarf honestly wasn’t sure if he liked the idea any better than if the elf didn’t know a lick of the common tongue. 

But after staring at the intensely pained face, Gimli knew one thing: he didn’t have the heart to do this anymore. It was only the fourth day after finding the elf, but already he’d had to harm the lad seven times in his attempt to relieve him of the poison. Gimli didn’t think he could do it again. The incisions were steadily becoming less careful the more aware the elf became; the more wild his flailing got. One of these days, if the dwarf wasn’t careful and the elf continued to thrash, Gimli knew he could very well end up slicing the fair creature’s neck, hitting a major artery. 

There had to be a way of doing this so he didn’t have to continue hacking the elf open! 

Setting to work, cleaning the blood and remaining puss around the wound was becoming almost second nature. He’d developed a rather quick, efficient system by now. And thankfully, unlike the other times, the elf remained still. The lad’s face would twitch and screw up in pain every so often, but he did not move, that’s what was important. 

And so, once that was taken care of and the wound was bandaged, the elf had fallen unconscious again, and Gimli was left to himself. “Broth,” he mumbled under his breath, deciding that it would be a good idea to make something light for the forest creature. If the boy was ever to regain strength and heal, he’d need more than just water and tea. 

The meager supplies he had brought with him were quickly disappearing. After this expensive and time consuming venture with the elf was over, Gimli knew he’d have to find a town and buy some more supplies…He just hoped he had enough money to get what he needed. 

With the broth boiling and the camp cleaned, it was time to refill the water canteens. Taking the now ritualistic pathway down to the river, Gimli knelt beside the water’s edge and filled the canteen. He scowled at the reeds that kept getting in his way as they swayed in the breeze. He swatted at them, wishing he had his ax near so he could cut them all down. But as he dreamt of destroying, he was very suddenly struck with an idea. A very, very good idea, if he was allowed to say so. 

Pulling at a reed, the dwarf snapped off a long, slightly bent one and took it back to his camp along with the canteens. He wasn’t exactly sure if this would work, in fact, he’d never heard of something like this being done, but recalling his uncle’s hearing horn, Gimli supposed the ideas were not wholly dissimilar. He would just have to be careful. 

With as steady a hand as any toy maker, the red-beard took out a knife from his boot and began carefully carving the ends of the reed. On the one side he carved it to a smooth slant, the other, he cleaned up the broken edges from where he’d snapped it. Once that was done, he set about cleaning the reed completely, even going as far as to pour what little alcohol he’d brought with him over it, as he’d seen his uncle do several times with his own medical equipment. 

Once that was finished, with the utmost care, careful not to wake the elf before absolutely necessary, Gimli unrolled the new bandages and looked over the wound he’d just cleaned not ten minutes before. Amazingly, the cut was already healing, proving the magic of elves. It was unfortunate that it did not look fresher. Carefully taking up the reed, Gimli held his breathe, holding the elf down with his other hand, before jabbing the reed into the wound. 

As expected, the elf screamed, trying to sit up, but the dwarf held him down. Blue eyes were feral as they looked around helplessly. “Easy, lad! Easy,” Gimli tried to sooth, hoping the other creature wasn’t feverish. 

The forest being continued to sob, but eventually stilled well enough while under Gimli’s touch and quiet words. By the time the makeshift procedure was finished, and the dwarf had managed to wrap the wound up and around the reed protruding from the wound, both beings were panting from the exertion. The elf was sweating profusely, shaking from the extreme agony, and Gimli was shaking from having been forced to do such a thing to a living creature. 

When reddened eyes rolled over and latched onto the dwarf, Gimli felt a thrill of guilt surge through him at the betrayed expression on the elf’s face. Feeling compelled to defend himself, he said, “I didn’t want t’ keep having to cut it open to drain the poison!” The elf stared at him blankly. “Hopefully tha’ reed will keep the wound from closing and allow it t’ drain proper.”

The elf shuddered, closing his eyes and taking a deep, deep breath, before lying still. For one horrified moment Gimli seriously thought he’d killed the creature. After all the time and attention he’d given, after trying his best to save him, Gimli had killed the elf. He felt so sick, so guilty for making the lad’s last few days of life utterly miserable, he almost didn’t hear the quiet words that followed. 

“Le hannan.”

The red-beard snapped his head up. “What?” 

The elf peeled open his eyes, looking straight at the dwarf with a seriousness and gravity that made him feel heavy, as if he was bearing witness to something great. “Le hannan,” the elf repeated softly. “Thank you.”

The world seemed to stop spinning. For a moment the two beings, one of the forest, the other of earth, stared at one another and a sense of something…universal passed between them. The elf felt gratitude, he understood Gimli sought to help, and the dwarf accepted the thanks graciously, without the want of anything in return. And as they stared into each other’s eyes, coming to a mutual understanding, it must have been the first time elf and dwarf had been in communion with one another since the time of Morgoth, in a time when elves and dwarves had fought side by side for the greater good of all Arda. 

“You’re welcome.”

Slowly, the elf nodded his head as best he could in his present state, before his eyes slid shut, locking away with it, too, the strange sense of balance that had fallen over their camp. 

It took a minute or so for Gimli to shake away the intensity of the feelings he’d felt when caught in the depthless eyes of the elf. Suddenly he was reminded that this was no mere simple creature of the wood, not just an elf. This being, injured as he was, was a member of the High Born, one of the Eldar. A creature of Star Light, the First Born. There were stars in his eyes, a hidden power under the seemingly frailty of his fairness. This boy, this Eldar, was powerful, and somewhere over the many millennia of anger and distrust between their races, Gimli realized his people had forgotten that. 

After the encounter, the night ended as a fairly peaceful affair. The reed did its job and kept the wound from closing completely, and even allowed the puss that had built up to seep and drain quite a bit out of the elf’s blood stream. While crude and certainly not a replacement for good medicine, it worked fairly well for what it was, and Gimli found himself both relieved and proud. The elf might just live after all. 

With his patient so calm, not having to disturb his rest to check over the wound as often, the dwarf nodded off to sleep, keeping his ax nearby just in case. He only meant to close his eyes a moment, but as soon as he did, he passed out. The day’s events having gotten to him just as much as the elf that laid still beside him. 

oOoOoOo

A few days later found Gimli waking with a start, the pale light of morning already beginning to shine upon the earth, signaling it was just after dawn. He’d slept at least a solid six hours straight. A new record. 

Panicked, he looked towards the bed of the elf and was horrified when he did not see his recent companion. But before he could become too alarmed, however, his eye caught sight of something pale just off to the side. Raising his ax, he turned towards the abnormality, only to find the elf sitting up, a steaming cup in his hand. 

There were dark circles under the elf’s eyes, and he had so very little color save the red rimmed blue eyes. Gimli let out a groan of disbelief and exhaustion, before flopping back, allowing the adrenaline to pass. He would never understand elves, he decided. 

“F…Forgive m-me,” a fair voice startled the dwarf. Sitting back up, he stared over at the elf, who gave an attempt at a smile. It looked horrible. “I-I-I couldn’t l-lie still anym-more.”

Surprised by the use of Westron, but not wanting to be taken as a fool, Gimli nodded. He could understand. He never liked to keep still when he was in pain. At least the elf wasn’t moaning terribly anymore. Looking down at the cup, he realized that the fire was burning steadily, and the broth from the night before was still over it. The elf had somehow managed to maintain it. 

Blue eyes followed, before the elf spoke up. “I h-hope you don…don’t mind,” his voice was shaky, a strong accent present, but perfectly understandable. 

“Not at all,” the dwarf replied as amiably as one could having just been woken up with a heart attack. Gimli wasn’t much of a morning person. He’d rather stay up late and sleep late to rising and setting with the sun. 

Again the elf attempted a small smile, but it came off as a wince. His shoulder must have still been hurting him, but from all the bleedings they’d done, and from the reed implanted, he could tell the lad had been gaining some strength back by how he thrashed about. Despite how thin the boy was, he was strong, almost too strong for Gimli to manage by himself. 

“I,uh…I made that for you,” the dwarf pressed on, feeling foolish and embarrassed now that he had to think of things to say. “Drink it slow, though. Don’t want ye gettin’ sick.”

The elf looked down, an utterly humiliated expression crossing his features. Gimli had been so busy being embarrassed himself, having to face the elf he’d bathed and changed and sat by his sickbed, that he hadn’t stopped to realize how mortified the elf would be in return. The lad looked terribly young, as though he hadn’t even reached his majority, and Gimli found he wanted to comfort the boy, wanted to tell him that he didn’t think any less of the lad for how sick he’d become. 

But at the same time, the dwarf didn’t want to bring up his part in the caretaking at all. How would that sound? Having to admit that he’d undressed the boy? Mortifying. It would be a mutual agreement not to bring it up, he supposed. 

They sat in silence, the elf drinking his broth, while Gimli turned and tried to find something a little more hearty for himself. He was starving. 

They ate together in the quiet of the morning, before the elf set down the cup, hands shaking visibly. “I…I’d like to travel home,” he said, voice a little more steady than before. 

The dwarf frowned. “Are ye sure ‘bout that, lad?” he asked, unable to keep the concern from his tone. “This is the first ye’ve been awake and lucid sitting up. Rest awhile longer. Don’t push yer self.”

The elf was already shaking his head, facing out into the east, into the greater forest that was Mirkwood. “I must return soon,” he said quietly before turning and holding the dwarf’s eye. “Thank you, f-for everything. I-I must go now.”

Gimli wrestled with the words, with the sincerity behind them and the meaning itself. He shook his head, feeling a swell of anger attempting to rear its ugly head. Taking a deep breath, forcing himself to remember his manners and ignore the pointed ears, the red-beard nodded his head. “You’re welcome, I’m sure,” he began as calmly as he could. “But you must understand I can’t let you leave.”

The elf had the nerve to look surprised. As if he honestly hadn’t expected such a reply. When he managed to come out of his stupor, the elf frowned lightly. Not in anger, Gimli realized, but honest confusion. “I must go,” he said again, as if struggling to find the words to express his desire. Perhaps he wasn’t as fluent in Westron as the dwarf had first thought. “I must r-report to the Elvenking.”

At the name, all anger stalled, replaced with dread. It was just as he had feared. The elf was definitely from Mirkwood then, despite his fair complexion. The thought of going not only into Mirkwood, but to the Elvenking’s lands filled the dwarf with a real foreboding sense of terror. Stories of the Elf King had reached even out west, and all knew of the Elvenking’s fierceness and arrogance. They were the kind of stories the dwarrowdams told to frighten their children into submission at night. How the King of the Wood would snatch them up and feed them to his pet spiders. 

It was said, too, that the Elvenking of Mirkwood was even more terrible than that. While mostly keeping to his wood, it was known through tales and legend that he was a formidable foe. That he was a truly ancient creature that had seen the reign of Morgoth and the destruction of hundreds of civilizations. While beardlings were frightened by tales of spiders, warriors were alarmed with rumors of viciousness and absolute cruelty of the Elf King. Word of the wildness and ferocity of the wood elves of the north was known throughout Middle Earth. They were not beings to be trifled with. How much more dangerous, then, was their king, who ruled the unruly mob?

But fright over rumored tales would not help Gimli much. In fact, he had learned a lot about elves in the past week, enough that he gained a little confidence in hoping the perhaps the Elvenking wasn’t quite as bad as legend whispered. If this boy was from the dark wood, maybe the elves weren’t so bad. 

“Surely you can wait another day or so?” the dwarf questioned, quietly wishing to put off the journey into the forest. 

“I cannot,” the elf shook his head, frowning, eyes sparkling with a light Gimli had not seen before. “I must return now. I thank you for your help.

A groan escaped the dwarf as he sat back, the elf staring at him in confusion. “Never let it be forgotten the stubbornness of elves,” he declared before standing. The boy frowned, eyes ever watching. “Drink a bit more of that, laddie,” he nodded to the broth. “I’ll get packed up and we can go.”

The surprise on the Eldar’s face almost made this horrible idea worth it. Almost. “Y-you…” he trailed off, as if he could not recall the words he wanted. “You’d come…w-with me?” 

“Of course I’m goin’ with you!” Gimli snapped, feeling nervous and scared and horribly exasperated all at the same time. “I’m not gunna just let you walk off on yer own! You’d die an’ all my hard work wouldda been for not!” 

It was clear that the forest creature was startled by the declaration. More than startled. He actually gaped, as if he had no idea how to respond to the outburst, but the dwarf refused to be ashamed. While a bit crude perhaps, what he’d said was partially truth. He’d spent the better half of six days caring for the boy, he would hate to see the lad waste his good fortune of surviving the attack only to die alone in the dark wood. His home or not, Mirkwood didn’t have the reputation of being a nice place in Arda, even to those who lived within its shadow. 

A fleeting look of suspicion crossed the fair features, before it melted away, replaced with tiredness. The lad was too sick to travel. It was more than obvious, but the elf drank his broth dutifully, a certain air of determination about him. There was no use fighting the lad. Gimli would play along with this, allow them to travel a little ways before they stopped to make another camp. Maybe a little travel would show the boy that he wasn’t all powerful. It was probably wise to move anyway. Orc or wargs were bound to find this place eventually. 

So, when everything was packed and their tracks covered as best as they could be, the two unlikely companions set out toward the forest. The elf, for all of his bravado, had a horrible limp, his leg not fully healed, probably due to the poison. But as expected, the stiff necked creature said not a word about the obvious discomfort. 

The going was slow, much slower than Gimli was used to, but then, that was not unexpected. The elf pushed himself. Hard. Too hard, the dwarf noted with concern. The lad was sweating unnaturally, and his pale face was whiter than snow. But the boy said nothing, and they continued on in their silent trek toward the darkness of Mirkwood. 

After a few hours of torture, Gimli was the one who broke first and demanded that they stop. The elf, for all of his show, was obviously relieved once they sat to rest. Gimli gave the lad some water and even offered a bit of his dried meats. He knew the boy wouldn’t be able to eat much, but even a little bit was better than nothing. And it was as they sat together, that the dwarf found he was unable to keep quiet. 

“So…” he began eloquently. “What were you doing so far away from your home? Mirkwood was about five day’s travel from the edge of the forest. And that’s if you’re fit as a fiddle and walk fast.”

The elf frowned lightly at the dwarf. “I…” He sighed. “I was f-following…following yrch that h-had caused…d-destruction t-t-to our fields in the n-north.”

“By yourself?” the dwarf asked skeptically. 

“N-no,” the other replied quietly. “I-I was w-w-with sever-al com…companions.”

From the grief in the boy’s eyes, Gimli had several guesses about what may have happened to those companions. “Perhaps we’ll run into them,” he offered, watching for any kind of reaction.

The elf shook his head. “I-I’m…unsure if we w-will.”

They lapsed into silent. Together they rested, and Gimli was tempted to declare that they had moved far enough for the day. The elf was so pale, but the reed was still oozing out puss, doing its job well enough. The mess, however, now drained out and onto boy’s back. Without much thought, the dwarf reached over and wiped some of it away. The elf watched his movements with a disgusted sneer. 

“I-I…I-I’m sorry to have in- inconvenienced you,” he apologized softly. 

“Eh,” Gimli waved away the guilty words. “Nothin’ better t’ do anyway.”

Now it was the elf’s turn to look his companion over quizzically. “What a-are you doing o-out here alone?”

And in turn, now Gimli looked away guiltily. “Truly?” he glanced over at the elf, before letting out a nervous laugh. “I have no idea. Just wanted t’ look at th’ mountains, I suppose.”

Instead of a sneer or any other look he was expecting, when Gimli glanced up at the elf, he found an admiration shining in the blue eyes. “I-I…I wish I could e-explore th…the world,” he admitted. “B-but my f-f-father wo-would never allow it.”

“Ha!” the red-beard snorted. “I know ‘bout that, laddie. Too controlling.”

The elf nodded, before a sheepish expression came over him. “A-A-Ada means w-well. He just…he’s j-just worried.”

“I suppose,” Gimli sighed before adding, “But it’s still annoying as hell.”

A laugh escaped the elf. It was quiet, looked painful, but that didn’t stop the forest creature’s mirth. “I-I know.”

An easiness settled between them, and had it not been pleasant to actually have someone to talk to after lonely months of silence, Gimli would have been more distressed with the fact that he was getting along so well with an elf. He had many questions he wanted to ask the fair being, wanted to tell so much in return, but worried about breaking the strange truce that they had formed. It was truly amazing to think that he could get along so well with one of the Eldar. It made him…uncomfortable.

Eventually the elf forced them to rise and they kept moving. They traveled the rest of the day until just before sunset. It amazed the dwarf that the elf could travel with his injuries. It was clear how sick and how painful the entire affair was, but the elf pushed on. And that night, as soon as the bedrolls were down, the elf passed out, breathing heavily, puss leaking out of the reed. 

The next few days were the same. They walked as far and as fast as the elf was able, with Gimli only having to threaten to rest a few times. And as they traveled, the dwarf found his like of the elf only grew, as alarming as that was. They did not talk about much, yet they seemed to talk about everything when they did. 

Gimli found out that the elf only had his father left in Arda, his mother having ‘passed.’ The word was ambiguous at best, so the dwarf did not pry for the specific meaning. But he did find out that the elf lived in what Gimli supposed was the capital of the elven realm, the Halls of the Elvenking. And that the elf was a captain of the king’s warriors despite his young appearance. 

In return, Gimli shared with the elf that he was thus far an only child and that he lived with his mother and father back west. He told the elf about his smithing and having been trained as a warrior. He even found himself talking about Fíli, Kíli, and Ori and all of the misadventures they sometimes got into. There were moments when the extravagant stories may have been the only thing keeping the elf’s feet moving. 

What was not exchanged, however, in all of their talks, were names. There was a real fear in Gimli that should they speak their names, the illusion of camaraderie that they forged would somehow shatter. It truly made no sense, but then, neither did their rather strange relationship. Gimli found himself not wanting to do anything to destroy what they had managed to create. 

But as the days passed, so too did the elf’s health. It was clear that each day they marched on, a little more of the lad’s health slipped away. Of course the boy was too proud to admit that he was weakening. “Just to the edge of the forest,” he would wheeze, and the dwarf had not the heart to speak up against the idea of settling anywhere near those dark forsaken trees. 

But on the sixth day of traveling, the elf couldn’t walk anymore, his condition halting any hopes of movement. They collapsed together just within the shade of the trees in the late night, having pushed that final day. The annoyance and worry Gimli had felt at the stubborn creature, and his own fear of the woods, lessened when he noticed how calm the elf became once he touched the bark of the trees. There was still pain in the fair face, but also a sense of serenity. He even began muttering in elvish. 

A quick, rather poor camp was set up, but just as Gimli was about to make the fire, the elf shook his head. “I would not light it,” he warned. 

“But we need heat,” the dwarf argued, feeling suddenly skittish. 

With more authority than he’d been able to show in days, the elf shook his head once. “Do not light a fire,” he commanded. “It would alert…darker creatures.”

That was the only warning Gimli needed. Despite the want of a comforting fire, the dwarf understood the wisdom in listening to the elf. After all, in this place, this elf that had rarely left the shadow of the boughs, was expert. This lad knew his home from the inside out. While looking so young, he was a captain of the king’s warriors. He knew what he was talking about. 

A sigh escaped the red-beard, who went and sat down beside his patient. He checked over the wounds before pulling at his beard in agitation. The shoulder was getting worse. The reed was clogged up from puss, making it all but impossible to leak the poison. And without an opening to escape from…

“Y-you’ll have to cut i-it again,” the elf’s quiet murmur made the dwarf jump. 

“What?” 

“Th-the wound,” the boy panted, glancing down at his shoulder as best as he could. His neck was swollen. 

Nausea filled the young dwarf at the thought of once again having to mutilate the elf’s shoulder. And it would be worse this time. Before he’d known nothing of the elf, now they were…well…they were more than acquaintances, and he hesitated to call them anything else. But whatever they truly were, how could he harm the elf now? Now that he knew he was the only child to a father that had no one else in all of Arda? Now that he knew he was a warrior captain, who tirelessly worked to protect the realm he loved and served his king? 

“It’s gunna be hell, laddie,” Gimli said softly. “And I’m not su―”

“Do it,” the elf commanded, voice steady as stone. “I’ll die if you don’t.”

The dwarf let out a breathy laugh. “Ye might if I do.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

There was nothing else they could do. Gimli prepared to cut into the elf once more, feeling his hands start to shake. It took twenty minutes to get everything set up and ready. The elf had dozed, somewhere stranded between dream and consciousness. It would have been better for them both had the lad been fully unconscious. 

“Ready?” Gimli asked gently, watching his companion stir. 

“Aye,” the elf replied quietly, hands balled into fists in the blankets. 

It was disturbingly easy to fall back into the routine of cutting flesh. The elf was biting his lip so hard it began to bleed. Stopping about a minute into the procedure, the dwarf picked up a piece of wood and held it near his patient’s mouth. “Bite down.” 

The elf took it between his teeth without question, and the procedure continued. Once there was a sufficient opening and the reed was removed, Gimli began squeezing out the black puss. The stick between the boy’s teeth audibly snapped as he tried his best not to scream. It was amazing he managed to be as quiet as he was. 

When the incision was once again opened, the dwarf took the time to squeeze the inflamed skin around the wound and was disgusted to watch as black puss popped out, oozing down. The elf was shaking by now, shuddering for breathe and extremely pale. But Gimli tried not to watch his companion’s features too closely. 

It was difficult to remain detached, but the images of Òin were ever present in his nephew’s mind. He tried to imitate his uncle’s coolness and worked as dispassionately as possible. When it was finally over for the moment, and after he helped the elf lean back on one of the trees, Gimli set to work cleaning out the reed of the foul infection. 

As fast and efficiently as he was able, the dwarf finally managed to clean and sterilize all that he could before scooting close to the elf. “Ready, laddie?” he asked gently . 

The elf’s blue eyes peeled open, his heavy breathing slowing just a fraction. “Do it,” he wheezed. 

Nodding, Gimli did his best to slide the reed back into the wound. The elf muffled a scream, turning his head away, tears streaming from his eyes. And once the dwarf was satisfied with the reed’s placement, he quickly bound up the rest of the injury. In a total of fifteen minutes, the procedure was finished. Thank Mahal.

When the two companions had calmed, the elf broke the silence with a bitter laugh. Gimli turned his head to stare at the forest creature, amazed. Perhaps he was delirious from the pain? 

“I don’t…s-suppose you h-have any…l-liquor I could…ha-ve?” he smirked down at the dwarf. 

For how horrible he felt, the dwarf laughed too. “A bit,” he nodded, standing up on shaky legs and grabbing his pack. Truly, there wasn’t much left, and he really would have rather saved it should he have to disinfect the reed again. But at the same time, he didn’t have the heart to refuse the elf’s request. After all, the forest creature was probably hurting much more than the dwarf could imagine.

So, grabbing his whiskey bottle, he went and sat down beside the elf. “Here,” he offered. 

The elf fumbled with his good arm before he was able to take the bottle. With stiff, sloppy movements, the bottle was to his lips and he drank nearly the entire content in one go. Gimli sat up, alarmed. That was not weak stuff! Even the heartiest of dwarrow were not likely to drink so boldly. 

Yet when the bottle came down, the elf sat back, still panting, before he looked at his companion, appearing unaffected. “Pity there’s…n-not more.”

Gimli snorted. “You say that now. But if ye drank a whole bottle a’ that, ye’d be regrettin’ it in the morning.”

A breathy laugh escaped the other being. “B-b-better m-my head s-suffer than my sh-shoulder.”

The two exchanged weak smiles. After a time, the elf felt well enough to move, and laid back on the bed the dwarf had fixed for him. In a matter of minutes the Eldar was asleep, eyes tightly shut. Gimli stood vigil, all the nightly noises of the forest before him frightening and unfamiliar. He watched anxiously for something to attack ― giant spiders from the stories, orcs, wargs, or other nasty things. 

But as the night hours wore on, the longer the stillness around them continued, Gimli felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. He did not trust the forest. Not at all. But he was so tired. This journey was hard on him as well. He couldn’t believe the elf was still willing to continue. The boy was sick. Getting worse. They should have never left their old campsite to begin with. 

Eyes too heavy, without his leave, Gimli felt them slide shut. In a matter of seconds, the dwarf was fast asleep. 

oOoOoOo

A sharp, piercing cry shattered the still dawn. Gimli sat up in terror, reaching for his ax, only to realize it wasn’t close. On the ground near him, the elf laid still, just beginning to rouse from the unearthly noise coming towards them.

Jumping to his feet, kicking away his blanket, trying to get feeling back into his limbs from the cold night, the dwarf grabbed his ax and stood over his patient. The ground began to shake as though a stampede was coming ever nearer. Another hollow call came forward, and a huge, ominous shadow was steadily taking shape from under the trees. 

Suddenly, out of the dark forest, a huge creature leapt into the open. It was like a deer, only massive. Its antlers spanned at least twelve feet, and it thrashed its huge head from side to side in agitation. It stomped and snorted in a frenzy. Never before have the dwarf seen such a creature, never imagined one of its magnitude, but despite being in terror, he was also awed. 

“Mellon nín,” the elf called softly. 

The beast responded by letting out a cry. 

“L-lower yo-your weapon,” the elf commanded, a weak hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “He-he’s here to h-help.”

“Help?” Gimli squeaked, eyeing the monster. It looked more like the beast wanted to stamp them into the ground into a fine paste. 

But as the elf struggled to sit up, Gimli found himself forced to lower his ax to help his patient. The forest giant, too, calmed sensing the elf’s distress most likely, before it walked cautiously over towards them. And while the dwarf wanted nothing more than to be rid of the animal, it came and leaned over the elf before sitting down completely. Gimli watched in disgusted fascination as the giant deer began nuzzling the elf’s face. 

The elf laughed before coughing. The sound was wet and definitely not good. “W-we sh-should p-pack,” the elf managed to get out. 

“R-right,” Gimli nodded, uncomfortable with the beast staring at him, hostility burning in its eyes. But he did as the elf commanded, lest he upset the animal. For some reason, Gimli was certain the monster understood the elf perfectly. 

Since there had been no fire, clean up was relatively easy, and within a few minutes they were ready to begin again. The dwarf had worked himself into a near fit, furious to not only be traveling again, just as he’d promised himself to force the elf to recover a little better before moving, but also because there was a deer with them now. What the hell were they supposed to do with that? Was Gimli to care for the animal now too all because the elf wanted a pet? 

But before resentment could take hold in his heart, he watched in utter astonishment as the elf struggled onto the deer’s back. “What are ye doing?!” he cried in horror. “Get off that thing!” 

The elf turned and stared at him dulling, blinking several times, before answering with a bit of a slur, “Come. H-he will bear us h-home.”

“Are ye mad?!” Gimli eyed the creature that snorted at him. “Ye’ll fall off! It’ll kill you! How do you even know―”

“He’s my friend.”

The dwarf just stared back flatly. “Friend?” 

“Tálagor,” the elf whispered to the beast, which seemed to sooth it. The elf continued to coo in elvish, and the dwarf was surprised that the massive deer actually began helping the elf onto its back, using its antlers gently. And when the elf was seated, looking wild and strange and so very mystical, the blond beckoned to his companion. “Come,” he urged. 

This was a bad idea. He didn’t even have to get on the creature to know that this was not going to end well. But cautiously, reluctantly, Gimli scooted over toward the giant beast, holding his pack and ax close. He wasn’t all that ashamed to admit he was terrified. 

And when he was close enough to the animal, it turned its huge head, antlers coming straight at him. Gimli let out a cry of surprise, unable to help himself, before he found the animal lifting him up and onto its back. The elf turned and helped unhook the clothing from the antlers once the dwarf was seated. And then, astonishingly, the red-beard was sitting on the back of a deer, behind an elf. Would wonders ever cease?

The animal stood, causing Gimli to instinctively wrap his arms around the elf, holding on for dear life. This was a terribly, horribly, terrifyingly bad idea. 

But once it was up, the elf patted its side. “Fly, Tálagor!” he commanded in a tender tone. And without need of another request, the animal sped off into the woods. 

There had been a time when Gimli had the opportunity to ride a pony when he was younger. It had been a small, stubborn beast of burden, old and trained to the point of boredom as it followed, never led. But even sitting up those two or three feet in the air had been high enough for the dwarf as the pony tottered along down a path. It had been bumpy and all together unpleasant. He couldn’t have cared less if he never had the opportunity to ride anything again. 

But this…

This was unlike anything Gimli had ever experienced. They were at least eight feet off the ground and were moving faster than his eye could keep up. The animal bound through its forest home, amazing the dwarf that it never once seemed to tangle its mighty antlers in branch or bramble. It either knew its way very well or was graceful enough to dodge what came its way. Whatever the case, it was still a frightening experience. 

The elf did not seem bothered by the distance to the ground or the speed at which they were traveling. Instead, the boy began to wilt, his health declining. He gripped onto the deer’s coat to keep seated, and soon Gimli found himself attempting to keep the lad upright and on the creature’s back. While better and faster on the deer, travelling this way had its downsides. The bumping jostled the wounds still not healed, but stubbornly the elf demanded they keep going. 

Besides speed, the deer also offered another unexpected usefulness later that evening when they’d stopped for a rest. Both dwarf and elf were exhausted from their day’s travel, and while Gimli set up a meager little campsite, keeping in mind not to light any fires, the deer stood guard. It amazed the mountain dweller to watch the creature as its ears twitched all about, snorting, and even trotting off a short way to wait and listen, before coming back. It eventually plopped down beside the elf, allowing the boy to lean back against its side. It was quite a tender scene, actually, as the deer snuggled the lad close, as though he were its own young. 

And so, the first night within the Mirkwood forest was spent nervously, but not as terribly as Gimli would have thought. The deer was incredibly perceptive of the elf’s state, and seemed to understand that the dwarf was helping. While the red-beard got the very great feeling he was not liked by the beast, it at least tolerated him, allowing him to ride and stay near. 

The next day was much the same, until the afternoon came around. The deer had just dropped out of its run to walk and catch its breath. The elf, while awake, was looking poorer than the day before. The boy was sweating and his face was white, but at least he was conscious. Gimli was trying to talk, to distract the lad from his suffering, when the deer stopped abruptly. The elf was lurched forward, unprepared and certainly in no condition to steady himself. The dwarf managed to keep the lad on, his arms still around the thin waist. 

Gimli might have begun grumbling at the deer, even thought about asking it why it had stopped, when he noticed the silence. An unnatural silence. There were no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Even the trees seemed to have ceased their rustling. Everything was suddenly very still, the air thick and suffocating. 

The elf also seemed to understand what was happening, because he managed to turn his head, looking this way and that, before his eyes widened. “Noro,” he commanded the deer. “Noro, Tálagor!”

But just as the deer had started to obey, to run, something shot out from nowhere. Gimli and the elf were unseated from the deer, and fell to the ground with a painful thud. But forcing himself to come to life, the dwarf stood, axes in hand. He growled in challenge at whatever was there. “Show yer selves!” he demanded. 

Immediately from out of the treetops descended four spiders. They were absolutely massive. Their large, black rounded bodies at least six feet across, ten front and back. And their legs! Big, thick, meaty legs that had them standing around ten feet tall. All of them hissing, all of them snarling, beady eyes watching closely. 

“Feast!” one of them hissed, causing the dwarf to pale. “A feast!” 

“Elf flesh!” another chuckled. “Sweet flesh!”

On the ground beside him, the elf moaned. Gimli glanced down to find that the boy was lying on his back, wreathing in agony, much of the reed having snapped off. And the lad was covered in spider silk on one side. That was what had unseated them. 

“Eat it! Eat it!” another spider cried, and charged forward. 

Without a second thought, Gimli swung his axes about, hitting one of the terrible creatures in the face. It cried out in surprise and pain before turning, trying to stab him with some sort of stinger. It took a powerful swing, but the dwarf managed to cut off the stinger and stab the spider in the back. It hissed and cried in agony, but Gimli had no pity. He finished off the abomination before jumping out of the way as it fell. When he rolled, however, he noticed that the other three spiders had gone for the prone elf. 

“Hey!” Gimli cried, trying to gain their attention. “Over here!” 

One of the spiders fell for it and charged after him while the other two set to work wrapping the elf up in their silk. Or trying to. The elf somehow pulled a knife, probably having taken it from Gimli’s pack at some point, and ended up stabbing one of the creatures in the eye. The other screamed in rage, trying to stab the elf with its stinger. The elf was rolling out of the way as best as he could, but it was obvious he didn’t have the strength for this fight. 

But just when all hope seemed lost and the elf would be yet again poisoned, a hollow cry sounded. The deer was back. It charged at the spiders near the elf, kicking and rearing, thrashing its head about wildly in an attempt to injure the spiders. The one that the elf had managed to stab in the eye had yet to recover, and was brutally stomped by violent hooves, as the deer showed no mercy in its enraged, panicked state. 

When that spider could no longer rise, the deer turned its attention to the other. With the elf taken care of, Gimli decided to worry about his own fight. The spider had learned the dwarf’s tricks, apparently, and it became much harder to dispatch this one than the last. Gimli had to duck and roll out of the way, trying hard not to get caught in the spider silk being shot out at him, or get crushed between pinchers. 

Eventually the spider got the better of him, and the dwarf was caught in silk. He panicked, throwing an ax at the head of the creature. It landed, but was not a mortal wound. It only infuriated the spider further, and it doubled its effort to sting and trap the dwarf within its web. Gimli fought against the silk, but it was too strong. 

“Feast!” the spider cried in wicked delight. “Die!” 

A shadow fell over them, and Gimli watched in astonishment as the deer reared up behind the evil creature before stomping down powerfully onto the spider’s back. The spider cried out in terror, but once more, the deer did not slow its attack. It stomped and kicked with all its might, and when the spider tried to retreat, the deer lowered its head and charged. It eventually pinned the black creature against a tree before slamming into it again and again, its antlers impaling the creature, crushing its exoskeleton. 

The spider screamed and flailed about, but the deer did not stop. It kept crashing its head into the creature until the spider was dead. But even then the beast did not stop. It kept on for another minute or so, even as the spider was falling apart. Only them, when its legs fell off, did it finally appease the massive deer. 

It took a moment for the dwarf to shake himself out of his adrenaline rush and remember to cut himself free, before running over to the elf, who was lying deathly still on the ground. When Gimli finally made it to the elf’s side, he touched the boy’s face, frantically looking for a heartbeat. When he saw the rise and fall of his companion’s chest, he felt a little better. 

The boy mumbled something in elvish, before cracking open his eyes. He frowned as he looked into the bearded face above him, before his features smoothed over in recognition. “We must go,” he whispered, trying to sit up. 

With how bad the boy looked, it would have been better if they could stay and rest a while longer. But then, if there were spiders here, there were probably more lurking about. So with only a quick nod, he grabbed up his pack, and helped his companion up. The deer was there in an instant, kneeling down so that they could climb on. Pushing the elf up before scrambling on himself, the moment Gimli had his arms around the boy, the deer stood and sped off, running faster than it ever had with them before. 

They ran quite a distance away before the deer apparently deemed it safe enough to slow. And when they did, the deer stopped beside a pond. It carefully lowered itself to the ground, and Gimli slid off its back before helping the elf, who wasn’t quite lucid anymore. But when the elf was seated against a boulder, the deer stood and walked over to the pond, drinking its fill. Gimli too walked close to the water skeptically, but instead of a stagnant cesspool, thankfully he found the water clear and pure. 

“S-s-spring,” the elf called weakly, wheezing. “Safe.”

Nodding his understanding, the dwarf filled their canteens and rushed back to his patient, allowing the elf to drink. “Lemme look at yer shoulder,” he commanded gently. 

The elf turned red, frightened eyes to the dwarf. “N-not now,” he pleaded. “Hurts.”

“Aye, I bet it does,” the dwarf nodded in sympathy. “But lemme look at it. I won’t touch.”

With reluctance, the elf leaned his head over to the other side as best as he could, giving the dwarf a better view. And when Gimli did look at the wound, it was worse than he’d thought. The end of the reed had snapped off and had been shoved down and forward, tearing the skin. It was bleeding quite freely. 

“Shit,” the dwarf muttered, looking through his pack. They were running out of dressings. “How’s yer leg? Side?” 

The elf didn’t answer. He was probably in too much pain. So instead, the dwarf carefully checked over all the wounds as best as he could. They ran out of bandaged once he was satisfied, and their food was frightfully low. The elf didn’t have much appetite, but the dwarf forced the lad to eat small amounts throughout the day. 

They rested about an hour or so, before it was the deer this time that nudged them, spurring them to continue. The lad had long ago lost his voice, and began running a fever. But ever determined, he got to shaky feet and climbed onto the beast. Gimli tried to argue, but ended up losing when the deer snorted angrily at him. Apparently the elf had told the creature to take them home and the massive beast would do nothing but that. 

When they finally stopped for the evening, the elf was fully unconscious, having slumped against the deer’s neck a few hours ago. Between the beast and Gimli, they managed to keep the boy on, before they came to a stop. They had traveled long and hard, the deer obviously pushing itself in a mad attempt to make it to the Elvenking’s Halls. And while Gimli was glad, he found himself unexpectedly concerned for the animal’s well-being. 

But thankfully the hard day was rewarded. Even the dwarf could tell that they were entering into a lighter, probably safer area of the forest. The trees looked greener, and the air felt less hostile. The forest suddenly felt more like a regular forest and not the dreaded Mirkwood. And when the darkness settled in, the wood almost appeared…beautiful, in its own disturbingly thick and close way. At least he didn’t feel as strangely cold as he had the night before. 

When the deer was done grazing and drinking from a small stream nearby, it plopped down beside the elf and cuddled close for rest. It turned dark eyes, glittering strangely in what little light there was, at the dwarf, as though daring Gimli to fall asleep. Thankfully, between his excellent eyesight in the darkness as well as his growing grasp of understanding forest creatures, the red-beard realized what was silently being asked. 

“I’ll stay awake for a bit,” he said out loud, feeling incredibly foolish for having to speak to an animal as though it understood. Yet he got the very real feeling that the deer did understand him. The dark eyes across from him were not unintelligent. It understood. It knew. And Gimli wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that trait or not. 

A few hours passed in silence, or as quiet as a forest could be at night. It was cool, but the dwarf had been obliged to give up all the blankets to the elf. The idea of a fire was heavenly, yet he dared not start one, shivering in dread at the thought of attracting any more oversized creatures. Giant deer and spiders were enough, thank you very much. If there were any more gigantic animals, he wasn’t sure his heart could take it. 

But the quiet did give the red-beard the opportunity to collect his thoughts while his other two unlikely companions rested. Here he was, Gimli son of Glóin, a dwarf, in the middle of Mirkwood forest with an elf and a deer by his own free will. Who would have thought? But despite how uncomfortable he was with the whole affair, despite how miserable he was having to spend so much energy and attention on an injured elf, Gimli found himself not regretting his decision to help. This experience was quite unusual, and an intriguing learning experience. 

So far many of the old tales that had always left the dwarrow puzzled about the Eldar, and indeed Mirkwood forest, were becoming clearer. Thus far Gimli could confirm the healing magic of elves, could attest to their otherworldly appearance and the uncanny magic about their persons. There really were stars in their eyes, an ancientness that could not wholly be attributed to age alone. Even in his injured and diminished state, Gimli had seen that in the boy. 

And then there was the confirmation of the elven ability to commune with nature. While only having seen hints, the red-beard did not doubt that the old rumors about that were completely true. He’d seen the boy at the edge of the forest that first night. How much he’d calmed, how he seemed to speak to the trees without ever having to say a word. And then he was obviously communicating with the deer. That bond alone was enough to convince Gimli to the truth of the matter. 

But then there were old myths, hateful stories that he was beginning to see simply weren’t true. The first and most stunning was the fact that the giant spiders were obviously not pets of the elves. The elf had been panicked when he’d realized what was out there earlier, and had struggled to fight them off, even when he was hurting so badly. If the wood elves here were working with the spiders on any level, the elf would have tried talking to the creatures first.

But that wasn’t all. There was the fact that Gimli was rather dismayed to see that his own people and the elves were not as different as he’d once thought. At least not so different from this elf. The boy, while injured and indeed as indoctrinated in the old prejudices as Gimli himself, was a decent being, one that was good and fair. The lad had a father that he loved, had a mother whom he missed. The boy fought to protect his home, was loyal to his people, and fought the Darkness of the world every day. If it weren’t for the pointed ears, Gimli was sure any decent dwarrow would have been impressed with the lad’s ferocity and dedication. They were the same qualities in a being that dwarrow also admired. 

Things were never going to be the same for Gimli once he returned home. How could it? Not only had he seen so much, learned so much, he had also come to understand so much. Somewhere along the way he had come to understand his elven companion. At least a little bit. They had learned about one another, had formed an odd bond. A bridge had been tentatively crossed, one that had been believed to have been burned long, long ago when the world was still new. 

Staring over at his sick companion, the dwarf found himself smiling a bit. He wished he knew the lad’s name, yet he still dared not explore the other side of the bridge too quickly. They were still on tender ground. For now, their silent understanding would have to do. 

And when the deer woke later, standing and stomping about, keeping vigil for the rest of the night, Gimli almost instantly dropped off to sleep, wishing they’d find help soon. 

oOoOoOo

The next morning, when Gimli was nudged awake by a velvety nose, the dwarf sat up sputtering. Glaring at the deer before looking about, he could tell it had only been a few hours since he’d fallen asleep. The woods around him were still dark, yet something told him that the morning light would come soon. Eyeing the deer so close to him, the dwarf searched for something to protect himself with. After all, this was the same creature that had crushed those spiders yesterday into a fine paste. 

But the animal did not seem interested in his fear or irritation. Instead, it began shaking its massive head, before walking over to the elf. It was trying to tell him something, the dwarf realized, still groggy and wishing he could just go back to sleep. But he forced himself to stand, feeling sore and achy and cold, Gimli walked over to where his patient still slept, not wanting to anger the deer any further. 

When he looked down at the boy, he blanched. The past several days, being so tired, it had been easy for the dwarf to lull himself into believing that the elf was getting better, even when he knew he wasn’t. He’d been so preoccupied with the evils of the forest, he’d shamefully put the boy’s health second. Now, as he looked at the lad, so deathly still and pale, Gimli feared for the boy’s life. 

The fever had returned, hotter than ever while the rest of his skin was cool and clammy. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good. 

Mumbling curses under his breath, the dwarf grabbed his pack and looked through it, trying to find something he could use to help the ill elf. Unfortunately, he had nothing. There was not much they could do. If they stayed put they would be unable to receive any treatment or care. He would burn up and there was little doubt in Gimli’s mind that he would die. Glancing up at the giant deer that hovered nervously above them, the only other option became clear. They could continue to ride on towards the Halls of the Elvenking. But riding on had its perils. It would injure the boy further. Bumping about on the back of a massive creature would not do the boy any good. 

Either way, staying or continuing on risked the chance of killing the elf. The only question was, which way would be easiest for the lad to go? Gimli’s own instinct was to stay put, to hope the fever would abate before they traveled any further. Yet due to their rather bleak circumstances, between having run out of what little medical provisions the dwarf had had, the food supplies nearly gone, and the fact that the woods were still dangerous, spiders probably ever lurking nearby, staying might kill them faster than riding. 

A heavy sigh escaped the young dwarf. He had to make a decision. That much was clear. Either way he was sure he’d come to regret it. So, lifting the boy’s chin and pouring a little water down his throat, helping him swallow, Gimli stood and broke their small camp. 

“All right,” he mumbled to himself, looking over at the deer. “We should get goin’ then, shall we?” 

The massive beast shook its head, seeming to almost warm itself up for the day’s travel, before stamping its feet. Rearing its head back, it let loose its shallow, piercing call, the sound bouncing off the trunks of the trees. It was amazing, the sound not being muffled, but cutting through the denseness of the forest. If Gimli should survive this crazy adventure, he knew he would never look at this place the same way again. Who knew such a dark, evil place could still hold such wonders?

As was becoming routine, the deer sat upon the ground while Gimli lifted the elf up and onto the creature’s back. He leaned the boy forward onto the thick neck of the beast, before scrambling on himself. Once he was seated and had a firm grasp around the elf, the dwarf sighed, feeling exhausted and more than a little apprehensive. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…

But he could not back out. Once seated, the deer stood, and without a second thought dashed away into the forest at neck breaking speeds. Besides the lad not doing well, and there being the constant threat of spiders coming to kill them, Gimli found he was becoming distressingly good at riding on the back of a deer. He managed to learn quickly how to sit so that he wasn’t constantly bumping about, his bottom aching, and he was balanced enough so that he did not fall―which was a blessing considering his unconscious patient. Another fall could prove deadly.

And so the day went. Off and on the deer would sprint before walking almost leisurely, regaining its breath. Gimli had long ago stopped worrying about the creature’s lathering sweat, and found himself actually petting its side. “Doin’ good there, lad,” he spoke to it. “We’re almost there, I’d reckon.” Of course he had no real idea, the Elvenking’s Halls never having been confirmed on the maps, but he hoped it was so. He hoped they were nearly there for the boy’s sake. 

That hope only grew when they rested for an hour in the afternoon and Gimli saw something remarkable. A white deer. It was not nearly as large as the one they rode, nor was it a soft creamy color. It was pure white, purer than the snows of the Misty Mountains, with gleaming, intelligent black eyes. The dwarf and the small deer looked at one another, both amazed with the other, before the massive deer— Tálagor, the lad had called it—snorted. 

The white deer walked over, all hint of fear gone from its manner, and it sniffed at the still unconscious elf. Gimli watched, not daring to move, yet ready to intervene should something go wrong. The white creature nuzzled the elf’s cheek, before looking up at the massive deer. 

Something passed between the two animals before the smaller turned and dashed off into the woods. The dwarf watched in wonder as it simply disappeared. He would have thought it would stick out severely in its dark home, yet within seconds, he could not track it. Like a ghost, it had simply disappeared. 

After the strange encounter, they set off again, this time faster than before. They rode on, the boy getting worse. Gimli did what he could, trying to keep the lad upright and on the deer as it sped along, while also trying to cool the fever by placing a wet cloth on the boy’s face and forehead. It was a ridiculous balancing act, yet it couldn’t be helped. 

When darkness began to envelop the wood, the dwarf expected to get down off the deer for the night and rest, but as soon as he spoke to the creature, it shook its massive head only to start sprinting forward again. Taken off guard, the red-beard let out a small cry of dismay, nearly falling off. 

“What are ye doin’?!” he cried, but the deer didn’t slow. “He needs to get off and rest!” 

It was true. The elf was beginning to fade. Lad needed rest and time to be settled, but for all the deer’s perceptiveness, it didn’t stop. It didn’t seem to understand that the boy couldn’t take much more. 

But what could the dwarf do? He was around eight feet off the ground on a fast moving animal. There was no way to get off unless he fell, and he certainly didn’t want to do that. And unlike with ponies or horses, the deer had no reigns to control. They were completely at the gigantic beast’s whims, and it seemed to know that. 

Amazingly, after about half an hour of riding, the boy stirred for the first time that day. “Ada?” he mumbled. 

Sighing at the elvish, Gimli thought he might scream in frustration. “Easy, laddie. Don’t move too much.”

The elf’s head lulled back as he groaned. “Ada,” he whimpered. 

Feeling wretched, and not knowing what that really meant, Gimli reached around to his waist and grabbed the water skin, hoping that’s what the boy was after. “Here,” he said gently, having trouble helping the elf drink and keeping steady on the back of the crazy animal. 

The elf did take a drink, which, thankfully, seemed to perk him up a bit. “Im urui,” he mumbled. 

The deer let out several grunts, snorting, even as it continued to race through the trees. The elf seemed painfully confused, and he blinked rapidly. “Tálagor?”

“Aye, that’s him,” Gimli tried to keep his voice gentle over the rushing wind. “Stay still, laddie.” 

“Mas ledhiam?” 

Gimli had no answer. But he didn’t have to. For a moment later, all of his breath was stolen away as they were enveloped in light. 

The deer gave a hollow cry that mingled sweetly with the sudden chorus of willowy voices and singing that came from the tree tops. There were lanterns hanging from branches, there were fireflies in the air. It was as though they had suddenly broken through into another world. Gimli had not seen nor heard the fair folk at all only moments before, but now suddenly, here they were. 

And before them, looming almost ominously, was the great gates of the Elvenking’s Halls. Gimli gasped as he realized the halls were carved into the largest of the collected hills. It was an entire fortress underground. 

But there was hardly time to marvel. The deer thundered across the bridge over a rushing river, before crying out again, stomping its hooves against the stone. Immediately, as though having melted through the stone, several elven guards came rushing forward. Where had they come from? In fact, where were the other elves? Gimli couldn’t see them in the trees, could not make out where the singing was coming from. 

But that hardly mattered. A moment later, as the deer knelt, the guards came forth, several drawing their swords as they spotted the dwarf, the others focused solely on their injured comrade. All of them became quite pale. “Hîr nín!” one gasped when they saw the blond. 

Not wasting time, sliding off the deer and making sure to help the boy down as easily as he could, Gimli spoke quickly. “He needs help. He’s been badly wounded.”

The elves quickly slung the boy’s arms around their shoulders in an attempt to carry him off. The boy said something in elvish that didn’t seem to calm his friends much. And without looking back, they rushed forward and into the great gate doors that opened. Refusing to be left behind, Gimli had to jog to keep up with the long legged elves, only casting a glance over his shoulder once. When he did, the deer, as well as the rest of the elven guards, were gone. The singing had suddenly turned into a different sort of tune, and Gimli still could not make out a single elf, though the lights continued to shine with an ethereal glow, sending a chill down the young dwarf’s spine. 

But he could not contemplate the strange beauty of the dark forest lit at night, because the moment he was within the Elvenking’s Halls, his breath was taken yet again. 

It was massive. More than massive, it was…overwhelming. 

Unlike dwarrow dwellings, the Halls of the Elvenking had high, high ceilings, everything airy, so light, yet strangely heavy and dark. There were gems encrusted in the ceiling from what he could tell, stuck there, polished a bit, but they had not been removed. They caught the light and glimmered like stars. The paths twisted and turned, a river rushing through the entire kingdom inside just as much as from without. There were trees, too, living within the walls, and there were small portals, windows, looking out, allowing the breeze and sunlight to filter through. It was so very elven, yet nothing at all like what Gimli expected. 

Suddenly he saw elves. Guards mostly, and they were all looking at the party that had just arrived. “Boe enni nestron!” they kept calling as they continued on through the halls. 

One guard fell into step beside Gimli glaring down at the red-beard with enough distrust and hate that it nearly had the dwarf scurrying away to a dark corner to hide. But thankfully no one impeded his movements. For whatever reason, they allowed him to move freely, never once questioning him, though it was easy to see they were more than curious. 

Eventually, after plenty of shouting and commanding, they went down a darker, less grandiose hall, and several large doors were opened for them. They were in some kind of healing chamber. There were several nicely made beds waiting for occasions such as this and plenty of cushions. A she-elf, as beautiful and fair as the stories claimed, came forward, worry and fear shining in her eyes. She indicated to one of the beds and rushed off to gather things from the corner. 

Several other elves entered at that moment, all of them looking a bit disheveled, as though they’d been rudely awakened. They probably had. They rushed over to the lad instantly, each of them muttering to each other, peering over the wounds. Eventually one tall male placed his hands over the wounded lad and began muttering rapidly in elvish. In absolute fascination, the dwarf watched as a white light seemed to surround both the physician and the patient. It was amazing, but even more shocking was that no one else in the room seemed to care about the miracle that was happening right in front of them. 

For several fevered moments the healers worked in a chaotic unison, swirling passed one another to continue their toil in dance-like harmony. Athalas was passed between them many times, other herbs that Gimli did not know, and bandages. Lots of bandages. They were talking rapidly, pointing to the reed in the boy’s shoulder, before they seemed to recall that there was a dwarf amongst them. Everyone save the healer chanting, turned towards the outsider at that moment, staring at him with their unfathomable eyes. 

But before any could start questioning, the doors to the healing chamber burst open. Gimli jumped and watched in wonder as a tall elf ran in, long hair and robes flowing behind him. He was unlike anyone the dwarf had ever seen. 

The face was fair, just as fair and youthful looking as the boy he had found, yet at the same time harsh, even when worry was evident in the features. The new elf was unlike the others that was clear. For the moment he stopped moving, Gimli was struck by just how tall and lean the new comer was. Much taller than the others gathered, and unlike all the browns and reds of the elves he’d thus far seen, the new elf had pale golden hair, almost silver in the darkness. His brows were thick and severe, his face even more so. The eyes staring down at the boy were bright blue, and there seemed to be a glowing aura about him. He was beautiful, just like the boy. 

Gimli watched in silence as the new comer stood over the lad, absolute anguish written over his features, as his hands hovered just over the boy, as if wanting to touch, yet not knowing if he should. There was so much grief and sorrow in his face, that it actually brought tears to the dwarf’s eyes. This was the lad’s father. This was who Gimli had been returning the boy home for, the one he’d heard the lad speak of so tenderly. 

One of the healers began fillin the father in with rapid elvish that Gimli couldn’t hope to have followed. The new comer listened avidly, yet his eyes stayed on the unconscious visage of his son. But too soon, the healer stopped, before turning nervous eyes upon the dwarf, and indicating with a nod over to where Gimli stood. The moment things fell quiet, save for the healer still chanting, Gimli was pinned in place by a cold glare. 

The new comer suddenly snapped his harsh eyes upon the dwarf, and Gimli was not completely ashamed to admit that he was terrified. Unlike the other elves he’d seen with their swords and bows and knives strapped to their backs and sides, the red-beard believed that it was this elf that could truly kill him. No weapons would even be needed. The look alone could stop the heart, and the cold, ancient eyes boring into him burned. In the back of his mind, Gimli could not see this elf being the loving father that his companion had talked about so affectionately. 

“Where did you find him?” the blond spoke, voice commanding, accusing; all authority and no pity. 

Swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat, the dwarf tried his best to overcome his fear. “F-found him in the r-river. B-back west.”

The stern features twisted into fury. “In the river?” 

Feeling lightheaded, it took Gimli a few moments to speak. “I was camping there, an’ I-I saw him in the river! I fished ‘im out an’ tried to heal ‘im up.” He realized his accent was becoming thick, but he couldn’t find the will to slow himself in his mad rush to explain. 

“How did you get here?” the father demanded. 

As the dwarf floundered, one of the elven guards spoke up, “Tálagor, hîr nín.”

“Y-yes!” Gimli latched onto the familiar name. “Tha’ big beasty brought us!” 

“All the way from the Anduin?” the blond hissed suspiciously. 

“W-well no,” the dwarf admitted feebly. “See here,” he decided that he should start from the beginning before the elves killed him. “I-I was on my way east when I camped by the Anduin River. Saw th’ lad in th’ river an’ fished him out. He got hurt pretty bad. Wounds to the leg, side, and shoulder there,” he pointed to the reed. “I patched ‘im up as best as I could, and when he woke up an’ started talkin’, he insisted on coming back here.” 

The father’s eyes narrowed. “It’s true!” Gimli declared, feeling panicked and helpless and very, very uncomfortable. “I couldn’t just let ‘im go by himself― especially since he was poisoned― so I walked with ‘im. He wouldn’t hear a’ resting a while longer and healing up more. So we walked to the edge of the forest before that giant…deer-thing came and got us. 

“Good thing too,” he added, seeing the distrustful eyes around him, “since we got attacked by those giant spiders! Tha’ certainly didn’t help the lad any,” he frowned in concern as he remembered his companion’s agonized groans after his fall. 

“He was poisoned?” a she-elf asked, tentatively taking a step forward, her accent much thicker than the father’s had been. “How?” 

“Orc arrow to the shoulder,” Gimli replied, feeling relief when he managed to tear his eyes away from the furious blond to look at the pretty face of the healer. 

“And the reed?” another healer asked, disgust in his voice. 

“Well, that was me,” the dwarf admitted, feeling his face redden into something ugly, he was sure. 

“You shoved a reed into an arrow wound?” another healer gasped in revulsion. 

Glancing up at the boy’s father, the dwarf wished he hadn’t. The blond’s expression became thunderous, it was amazing Gimli hadn’t fallen over dead. “Had to!” he snapped, drawing on what little anger he could manage, trying to push back fear. “H-his wounds kept closin’ up and I couldn’t drain the poison. I had to do something! Couldn’t keep cuttin’ open the wound all the time to drain it.”

Horror flashed over the faces of the gather elves. Apparently they didn’t like the idea of cutting into an innocent’s flesh anymore than he had. But that seemed to at least give the healers a better idea on what to do, and they soon turned back to their work. That left the still livid father and the dwarf staring at one another. 

It was visible how the blond tried to swallow his anger, and it looked painful. But then, Gimli thought he could understand. A historical enemy brings home your son all but dead claiming to have saved him would have been hard enough for anyone to temper. But those suspicions mixed with the undeniable fear and anxiety over having a lost child returned and so hurt was just that much more unbearable. So while the dwarf’s first instinct was to be offended at the distrust being shown to him, he found himself swallowing back his own resentment. After all, he had learned, and was continuing to learn, that elves weren’t really all that different from anyone else. 

“H-he wanted to get home fast to see you,” Gimli found himself murmuring to the still anxious father. 

The blond snapped his eyes back towards the red-beard, scrutinizing and obviously judging. But after several intense minutes of study, the blue orbs fell away, and a sigh escaped the elf. He racked a hand through his long pale hair, before glancing mournfully at his son, who was still being fussed over. The sorrow and regret bled through the cold mask, giving the dwarf a glimpse of the father beneath. 

“And what is it you wish in return for the life of my son?” he asked quietly, yet with a firmness that suggested he not be trifled with. 

Relief spread through Gimli, even as a discomfort over the talk of payment pained him. “Nothing,” he answered honestly. 

Sharp eyes skewered him. “Nothing?” the blond asked, disbelief heavy in his tone. “You bring home my son, and you want nothing for your selfless deed?” 

“No,” Gimli shook his head quickly, feeling very young and foolish. “Save, perhaps,” he admitted timidly, “to be allowed to stay the night. I…am tired.” 

For the first time since seeing the elf, the blue-blue eyes widened in what could only be surprise. The answer was obviously unexpected and for reasons unknown, it made the dwarf sad. Sad that no one could do a good deed anymore without their motives being questioned. Sad that this fair creature could not just accept a blessing and had to worry about all the implications and favors he believed he owed. 

As it had when he had first looked into the lucid eyes of the lad in the forest, Gimli felt time slow down as he and the father stared at one another. That sense of something universal passed between them, and understanding. It made little sense, but somehow felt right. Suddenly, gazing into those otherworldly orbs, Gimli understood the elf before him a little better, and he had a feeling the elf understood him just as well. It was terrifyingly exciting. 

Slowly, very slowly, the father dipped his head once in a nod. “Accommodations will be made,” he replied evenly. Yet another olive branch had somehow been passed between the two races. 

The young dwarf nodded in return. But just when a guard was supposedly going to lead him away to the room he would be staying in, Gimli found that he could not completely control his fear and suspicions now that he was no longer staring at the lad or the lad’s father. Stopping, he turned back, “And!” he found himself adding, before he could think better of it. 

The tall elf turned back to him, eyes once more narrowed, a bitterness seeping into his features, the good feelings between them having evaporated quickly. It sickened Gimli to think that he had suddenly soured their understanding when such a monumental moment had passed, but he pressed forward. 

“And,” he said more evenly, “I-I would ask that the Elvenking not be told about this.” The blond’s eyes widened in absolute astonishment. “I mean right away!” Gimli amended. “I…I don’t want to cause any problems,” he explained quickly. “I just wanted t’ bring the lad home. I don’t want t’ cause any… racial issues.”

The elf continued to stare at the dwarf in open shock, before eventually straightening his face into something more neutral. Something akin to compassion briefly flickered in the elf’s eyes, before he nodded his head. “You have nothing to fear from the Elvenking,” he replied quietly. “Go. Rest. In the morning you shall be free to go as you will.”

Relief coursed through the dwarf and he nearly cried in joy. One motion from the blond and a she-elf suddenly appeared before Gimli. She gave a tentative smile, before gesturing out the door. And together, the she-elf, the dwarf, and only one guard this time, left the healing chamber. Gimli couldn’t help but look back before the doors closed, and saw the father now sitting beside his son, holding the lad’s limp hand. And while relieved that he wasn’t being accused of attempted murder or anything like that, Gimli was a little sad to be taken from his companion. 

Instead, the dwarf was led through the twisting halls until they came to a door. For a moment, Gimli feared that perhaps he’d be put in a prison cell, but dismissed the idea when he saw similar doors lining the hall. And when the she-elf opened one, any such negative fears were swept completely away. 

The room he was granted to stay in for the night was huge. And it wasn’t just large, it was beautiful. It was perhaps the most luxurious chambers the dwarf had ever seen, let alone being allowed to stay in. While not necessarily cozy and homey as he was used to— with the ceiling being so high and the room spread out, a tree to one corner— it was lovely. 

There was a large bed on the other side of the room, curtains around it, a stone headboard intricately carved with leaves and flora the dwarf had never seen. The blankets were a dark green, and looked very, very inviting. There was a wardrobe to one side made of oak, and a desk to the other. And there was the sound of running water from somewhere, soft and soothing. All in all, it almost felt as though he were camping out again, only with a few pieces of furniture this time.

“There is a bath drawn for you, master dwarf,” the she-elf broke his amazed gawking. “Should you require anything more, please, do not hesitate to ask. I am at your disposal.”

And with only a graceful bow, the elf maiden turned to go, leaving the dwarf to continue gaping around the room. Glancing down at his boots had Gimli terrified to walk any further into the chambers. He was filthy, there was no two ways about it. His boots were caked with mud and grime, his clothes were dusty and bloody, puss still staining the cloth. And, sadly, it appeared as though he hadn’t managed to get all of the spider silk off after the attack. The elves here probably believed him positively savage, running about as filthy as he was. 

So, while sleep sounded the most heavenly thing in the world, he decided that being clean would probably be equally refreshing. He managed to pull off his boots without having to actually sit down and stripped out of his clothes, carefully piling them by the door. He didn’t image anyone would just walk in here to see him. While feeling a bit self-conscious, he walked towards the bath that the she-elf had vaguely pointed towards.

It was only a short distance to the doorway, and when he entered the connecting room, Gimli was stunned. There, right before him, was a natural hot spring. Steam hung in the air and there was a scent of flowers mingling within. There seemed to be soaps lined up for his use, and there were several fluffy towels laying at the ready. Just feeling the heat had some of the tension in the dwarf’s shoulders melting away. 

Gingerly making his way over to the spring, untwisting his braids, Gimli soon sunk into the water, unable to help the groan of utter relief. Yes, a bath was definitely a good idea. For about ten minutes he simply sat there, leaning his head back and soaking up the comfort of the heat. But as he was starting to fall asleep, the dwarf decided that he should actually get himself clean. There was a perfectly good bed out there to sleep in, after all. He did not wish to waste it. 

The soap was, of course, flowery. The scent was likely to cling to him for days. But at the moment, the young dwarf simply didn’t care. He couldn’t even imagine caring if Fíli or Kíli were there to mock him about it either. Scrubbing every inch of skin he could, lathering up his beard and hair, just the knowledge that he was getting clean made Gimli feel better. He had gone too long without a bath, and done too many disgusting things in the meantime. 

Thirty minutes later, the dwarf deemed himself clean and grabbed one of the many towels and began the attempt to dry himself. It took all three of the given towels to accomplish the deed, and still his hair was wet, but he did feel quite a bit better. Ignoring his stubbornness and requesting to stay the night was probably the smartest thing he’d done in a while. Vaguely he wondered how the boy’s father had the authority to allow him the use of such a room. Must be some sort of advisor to the king, he thought tiredly. 

A quick meander into the next room later found Gimli flopped over on the bed. He just managed to scramble under the covers, marveling at how soft and utterly glorious it felt before he was asleep. He was so exhausted, so spent from days of worry and constant alert, that he hadn’t even realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Sleep stole him away, and between the quiet water flowing somewhere in the distance, and the faint coo of elf song, the dwarf fell into the first peaceful sleep he’d had in a long, long time. 

oOoOoOo

When next Gimli opened his eyes, he had no idea what time it was. He felt heavy and utterly wretched, only wanting to go back to sleep. He turned over with a moan, almost doing just that, when his mind caught up to him. This was not his bed at home. 

Sitting up quickly, regretting the action instantly, the dwarf groaned and looked about the elven room. There was no one there, of course, but there was light streaming in from…somewhere. It had to be morning, which meant that he was probably overstaying his welcome. 

Getting up carefully, he shivered slightly at the loss of warmth from the covers, before looking around for his clothes. He blushed as he realized he hadn’t put anything on when he slept, but scrambled to find his pants. To his horror, when he turned towards the door where he’d stripped the night before, the red-beard found that his clothes were gone. As were his boots. 

Flushing, fighting back the urge to get sick as well as begin a good round screaming in frustration, he frantically searched for his missing garments. Could it be possible he was so tired he’d forgotten he’d moved them? But after only a minute or so, he noticed his clothing sitting innocently on the chest at the end of the bed, folded neatly. 

Walking over, he picked them up and noted with astonishment that they were clean, mended, and even pressed. His boots, too, were now scrubbed and polished, and his axes as well. The elves had done this. And Gimli found that he didn’t really like the idea of this. Not only had they touched his belongings, they had come into his room during the course of the night while he was sleeping. Naked. A blush consumed his face, but he prayed to Mahal that they hadn’t noticed his lack of decency. 

Scrambling into his now clean clothes, marveling at how soft they felt, Gimli dressed quickly. He still wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew he should probably get ready to go. After all, he was not familiar with the hospitality of elves. He still counted himself as lucky that they had allowed him to explain what had happened the night before rather than just cutting him to pieces and feeding him to the spiders. The sooner he left, the sooner he could relax. 

But no sooner had he dressed when he spotted a bowl on the desk. How long had that been there? How had he not seen it earlier? Walking over, the dwarf noted it was full of fresh fruits and cakes. Breakfast, he realized. And there, too, was a pitcher full of water. 

Gimli’s stomach growled, and he scowled down at the traitorous thing. Wolfing down a cake and even a pear, the dwarf poured himself a glass of water to wash it all down. Reluctantly he had to admit that it tasted wonderful, a distinct honey flavor to the cake. So, reaching into his pockets, noticing that the elves had even washed the handkerchiefs from within, he took the rest of the cakes and wrapped them up for later. He also took some of the fruit. After all, it was all offered and his supplies had run critically low from helping the elf lad. Surely no one here would mind him taking these few things? 

After quickly braiding back his hair and beard, Gimli walked toward the door and opened it a crack. He jumped in surprise when he saw the she-elf from the night before standing right in front of him. She did not startle, and it made the dwarf wonder if she’d been there the whole time waiting or if she’d meant to knock on the door. But in any case, she did not seem surprised, and even smiled slightly at him. 

“Master dwarf,” she greeted. “If you would follow me?” 

Looking from the she-elf to the guard that appeared to be the same one from the previous night, the dwarf figured he had no other choice. So nodding once, he followed the two down the corridor of the Elvenking’s Halls. Now that it was light, he could see things more clearly, and the splendor of the kingdom seemed only amplified. But with the light came the realization that it was late in the morning, verging on afternoon. He had slept in very late. 

But there was nothing he could do about that. Shoving aside his embarrassment, Gimli opted instead to hold his head high and worked to keep up with his long legged escort. He expected them to show him out, but soon found they were leading him back to the healing chambers. An anxious feeling overtook him as he realized that perhaps he’d get to say goodbye to his patient. 

Upon opening the door, Gimli saw that, yes, the lad was still there, sitting up in bed and while pale, looking a hell of a lot better than he had the night before. Elvish medicine, it would seem, could even bring those from death’s door home again. 

The moment the boy saw him, blue eyes lit up, sparkling. “Mellon nín!” he called out. 

Gimli had no idea what that meant, but from the startled looks from the healers, servants, and even the boy’s father − who was still there after apparently never having left the night before − the dwarf assumed it was something rather shocking. But not wanting his last encounter with the boy to be marred by awkwardness or misunderstanding, he smiled as best as he could and walked over to him with more confidence than he felt. 

“And good morning to you, too,” he said gruffly, hoping the lad’s greeting was something like that. “How ye feel?”

“I am mending,” the young elf smiled. It looked tired, but that did not lessen its sincerity nor its brightness. “Thanks to you.”

The warmth in the voice tugged at Gimli’s heart in a way he had not expected. Smiling shakily back, the dwarf gruffly accepted the thanks with only a nod. “Well…good t’ see ye up. I’ll be needing t’ get going here soon.”

“Already?” the boy frowned, distinct sadness in his voice. “Surely you could stay a while yet?” 

Glancing sidelong at the father, who had remained silent, Gimli shook his head. “I don’t think so, lad. Best I be off as soon as possible. Don’t want t’ be causing any trouble.”

“You would not be a trouble,” the lad insisted, but at last, his father intervened. 

“Ion nín,” he said gently. “If he wishes to leave, we should not detain him.”

The younger elf frowned at his sire, but soon saw reason. Even though the unhappiness lingered in the bright eyes, the boy nodded. “Very well. If you must.”

It was surprising how reluctant the young dwarf found himself to leave. While the food had been wonderful, the accommodations excellent, this place was simply not his home. He was uncomfortable here, out of place. The only thing that helped relieve some of his tension was seeing the bright blue eyes of the boy he’d saved. It was the lad that he was reluctant to leave, he realized, but it could not be helped. He needed to complete his journey east, and from there, he would make his way home. 

Not really knowing what to say, Gimli fumbled with his hands and managed to take off a bead from out of his beard. The boy watched him carefully as the dwarf handed it out to him. Once the elf managed to take it, looking at him questioningly, Gimli shrugged. “It’s been…interesting,” he said, not knowing what to say. “But I…I hope that perhaps one day we might see each other again. Under better circumstances.”

The elf smiled warmly as he held the bead in his hand. “Thank you,” he nodded his head. “And I hope we may see one another again also, mellon nín.”

Never one for goodbyes, always awkward in such situations, Gimli found himself grumbling for the sake of sparing himself from doing or saying anything embarrassing. “Yeah, well…just don’t get yourself almost killed again. I worked too damn hard t’ keep ye alive!” 

The other elves in the room, the father especially, appeared appalled at the scolding, but the tension cracked when the lad laughed. It was a full, rich, belly laugh. It was the most lighthearted, musical laughter the dwarf had ever head, and it gave him reason to pause. It gave all of them reason to pause. 

But when the boy calmed, clutching at his injured side with only a wince, he smiled at the dwarf. “I’ll do my best,” he nodded in agreement. 

Feeling that an understanding and true connection had been accomplished between them, the dwarf smiled back, more at ease now, and nodded, taking the boy’s hand in his. “Good. I’ll…go now.”

The lad nodded back, giving the thick hand a final squeeze. “May the Valar guard and keep your way true, mellon nín. And may our paths cross again one day.”

And with that, Gimli was led out of the healing chambers. Strangely, the father followed. Together, two guards, the dwarf, and the boy’s father walked towards what had to be an exit of the halls. Once at the door, the father waved off the guards and the dwarf was alone with the tall elf. Without a word, the blond handed the dwarf his pack. With some shame, Gimli realized he hadn’t even missed it. 

“While safer than the south, the woods north are still dangerous when one does not know the way,” the elf began. “Please allow an escort to guide you east until you have come from beneath the boughs.”

A great part of the dwarf wanted to refuse the offer. After all, he didn’t really trust these elves, not completely. But looking up into the stern face above him, remembering their brief connection the night before, recalling the lad’s happy laughter, Gimli sighed. “I would accept, though I don’t wish to inconvenience anyone.”

“It is no… inconvenience,” the father replied, as though the words were hard to speak out loud. “I…am indebted to you for the life of my son…He is…all I have.”

The confession was much more than the dwarf expected. It wasn’t owed to him, yet he felt honored being given such information. “You owe me nothing more,” he replied quietly. “I am grateful for your hospitality. I accept your offer for a guide with joy.”

The blond nodded, yet still appeared ill at ease. This entire situation was probably very strange for such an old creature. Gimli imagined that this elf had very little interaction with the dwarrow, and those that he’d had were probably not the best. This was a learning experience for them all, and while he knew nothing would change overnight, it was a good start. 

“Should you come back this way, after seeing your mountain, I beg you enter the woods once more,” the elf offered, surprising Gimli. “My people would guide you through. It would shorten your trip back west considerably.”

Once more it felt as though the ground had been taken out from underneath Gimli’s feet. He knew. Somehow this elf knew that he was going east to see Erebor. He knew this was a pilgrimage, that this wasn’t a one way journey. How that was possible, the dwarf did not know, but he was unwilling to lie, to deny the truth of the matter. Not after what had passed between the two of them. 

“I…I thank you for the offer,” he bowed his head gratefully. “But I do not wish to trouble anyone,” he repeated. “I do not think I will be passing through these woods again.”

The stern face momentarily flashed with a strange sort of sadness, before it was gone. “It is no trouble.”

“All the same.”

The two stood facing one another, a silent battle of wills. This elf was so unlike, yet so similar to the boy that Gimli had saved. There was a harshness to the father that was not there in the son. Perhaps it was from age, perhaps it was something else. But whatever lingered in the eyes of the elf before him was old. Ancient. For an instant, Gimli thought he had peered into the past, to a time before the Darkness of this age. To a time of ancient glories, wild and new, when Morgoth still ravaged the earth. It was just as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying. 

But at last, the elf nodded his head, eyes still burning, but acceptance on his face. “Then travel north,” the blond maintained. “North of the woods. Should you need any assistance, you may enter and find protection here.”

The insistence in the tone left little room for argument. So, nodding, Gimli accepted the conditions. After all, he supposed it was better to make allies along the way. Who knew what kinds of trouble he might run into? 

And with a parting bow, the dwarf was about to follow the few warriors that would led him through the forest, when a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder. Turning back, he saw the blond elf staring down at him with an intensity that made the dwarf uncomfortable. But the hand withdrew quickly, and Gimli watched as the elf took a ring from off his own finger and held it out. “My son has named you elf-friend,” he explained softly, placing the ring in the stunned dwarf’s hand. “Should you ever need assistance, should you ever find yourself in want, you have only to speak friend, show this to any of my kind, and you will be cared for.”

Gimli’s chest suddenly felt tight as he stared down at the beautiful golden ring in his hand. A large emerald was set in the middle. It was a kingly gift, one that made the dwarf both giddy to receive, and ashamed that he had not given anything in return. “I cannot―” he began, handing it back toward the blond. 

But the father stepped back, as if the ring would burn him. “Keep it,” he commanded sternly, before his eyes softened. “A reminder of the green leaf you preserved. May it one day preserve you in return.” Bowing his head, sweeping out one hand gracefully, the elf then turned and walked away, leaving the stunned, confused dwarf with the warriors who waited just outside. 

The rest of that day was spent in near silence. The elves had saddled a pony for him while the others rode on horseback. They took the dwarf down paths he would have never seen, even if he had been looking, and they passed through elven villages. It was the strangest feeling. Seeing these fair, illusive creatures that his people had never trusted. They all looked so…normal. Just like people…yet not. 

Along the way, his elven companions weren’t much for talking, but then, Gimli didn’t mind. He wasn’t in the mood either. He was still marveling at everything that had happened to him in the last several weeks. At being within the dreaded Elvenking’s Halls. At the hospitality shown to him by the elves.

It was obvious that the father had restocked his pack, too, something that Gimli was immensely grateful for. As they rode, he looked through it, noting how there were now plenty of bandages, food for weeks and weeks, special elvish medicines, and even a bottle of what looked like wine. It was much more than he could have hoped for, and he found himself grateful as well as a bit guilty. 

But what took up the majority of his thoughts on the journey was the ring. Looking down at the emerald once more, Gimli was still in awe by the gift. It was more lovely than he’d first realized. The emerald was flawless, cut to perfection. And it was surrounded by golden leaves from the ring, keeping it in place. ‘Mellon nín!’ The joyful face of his companion sprang to the dwarf’s mind. ‘A reminder of the green leaf you preserved.’

Staring at the ring, the dwarf was definitely reminded of green leaves, and for some reason, the boy. His…friend. It still amazed Gimli. He had been declared elf-friend. Him. A dwarf just over his majority. He had never imaged being granted such a title, especially not while so young. When he’d helped the lad out that first day, he’d merely been trying to do the right thing. He’d had no idea he’d be so generously rewarded. 

The ride through the dark forest went much smoother and without event with the elven warriors. By the end of the evening, they were already on the outskirts of the forest. They stopped just shy of reaching the open plain, and turned to stare down at their dwarven charge. 

“We leave you now, elf-friend,” one of the warrior said simply. “May the Valar protect you on the rest of your journey.”

Feeling awkward, Gimli nodded. “Uh…thanks.”

“I’m afraid the pony must stay with us, however,” the elf went on, and for the first time, his stern countenance appeared a bit uncomfortable. 

The dwarf nodded, feeling better he was not the only one feeling so unbalanced with the niceties, and dismounted. “Right. Well…Goodbye, then,” he nodded towards the elves. 

The other elves inclined their heads and made a sweeping gesture with their hands, just as the boy’s father had done. One elf even dismounted and handed Gimli yet another bag filled to the brim with provisions. The dwarf took it without a word, not sure what to say. When he looked up again, all but the leader of the elves had disappeared, melting back into their forest home. The leader of the elves smiled slightly, probably amused by his stunned expression. 

“Have you any more need, you are welcome in the woods, elf-friend,” he said before making the same gestures the others had in a way that Gimli was learning meant farewell. So, not wishing to offend, he mimicked the gesture before bowing low in typical dwarvish fashion. “Goodbye,” he said solemnly. 

When he looked up again, the elf was gone and he was by himself. The reality of suddenly being so completely alone was strangely sad. While not the most pleasant time of his life, Gimli found himself missing the company of the young elf he’d fished out of the water. While sick much of the time, there was something about the lad, something…happy. There had been a spark there, a fire and drive that had not been diminished by sickness. The elf had been so full of life, even when it was draining away. He remembered the elf’s defiant attack on the spiders before the deer had returned. How he struggled to walk on to make it home to his father and the king. 

Looking down at the ring in his hand, Gimli smiled. A green leaf. That’s what the lad was. Still fresh and alive, vibrant and full of vigor. The boy had been spring. 

Turning towards the east, the young dwarf marveled at the sight of Erebor looming before him. It was beautiful. And so, rallying his spirits, he walked on towards the city of Lake Town. He might stay there the night after next, and then he would bring back a stone from the foot of the mountain to show Fíli and Kíli. 

And that’s just what he did. The dwarf did not enter into Lake Town after all, but he did travel near enough to meet a few men. And cautiously, he was able to pick up and hide away a few stones from his ancestral home. After staying on about a week, he decided that he needed to return west. 

Feeling more pleased and accomplished than he ever had before, the young dwarf trekked homeward. 

Despite the generous offer to travel through the woods, Gimli decided that he would pass. Being surrounded by so many trees was discomforting. And the thought of seeing any more of those giant spiders filled him with no small amount of dread. So he decided that he should head up north, as he’d planned to do the first time, and as the elf lord had bid. 

It was eerie, passing so close to the giant forest. Even a good mile away from the beginnings of its shadows, Gimli got the distinct and horrible feeling that he was being watched. But whether it was from friend or foe, he could not say. And so, he cautiously made his way back west. 

Once Mirkwood was out of his sight and he passed through the mountains, at long last, the dwarf felt some sense of familiarity and relief. Yet even as his heart became lighter at the prospect of seeing his family again, he could not help but look back east, back towards a dark forest where a bright soul lived, who had helped him make history. 

Of course when he made it home, Gimli was in more trouble than he’d ever been in his life. His mother had not been shy about smacking him over the head and on the behind to show her displeasure at his antics. And his father wasn’t shy about yelling so everyone in the mountain could hear. Yet even as he was sentenced to constant supervision for at least the next ten years, Gimli found he couldn’t be sorry for what he’d done. And not just because of the envious looks on Fíli and Kíli’s faces when he showed them the stones from Erebor and told them about his travel. 

But Gimli left out all mention of elves, however. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow talking about his time with the lad and in the Elvenking’s Halls seemed a little…personal. And he did not want the memory tarnished by mocking or teasing. Those scant few weeks were horded away in his memory for him to ponder when alone. They were his, treated as seriously as any treasure a dwarf might find, and he held the ring the elf lord had given him to be among the most precious items in his possession. 

A few years went by and so too passed the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. His mother and father refused to have him go along, despite having been out east that way before, and Gimli was made to watch and wonder when his father and the company would return. When word reached them, telling them of the reclaiming of their home, they packed up and went with swift feet and happy hearts. 

The group steered clear of Mirkwood, news from Glóin warning them not to enter the dark forest, and soon, after a sufficient amount of time mourning the loss of Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli, the halls of Erebor were bursting with excitement and restoration. Stories of the Company’s deeds spread like wildfire, and along with the many praises of Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit from the Shire, so too were the muttered curses of the Elvenking. 

While none could deny that the Elvenking had paid his respects to Thorin and his line, had even bestowed upon the deceased dwarf lord an elven sword of great worth, the elves were still not looked upon kindly. The Elvenking had, in fact, locked up Thorin and his Company, kept them prisoner, and had even marched towards the mountain with men to force Thorin to part with his hard earned gold. And as the curses flew through the air for the elves and all their kind, Gimli kept quiet, unable to stop himself from thinking of his friend and the lad’s father. What did they know of the Elvenking’s motives? Were they part of the arrests? Were they supportive of the terrible injustice? 

Years melted away, decades turning into scores, and still Gimli never breathed a word of his time in the Mirkwood to anyone. He was kept busy helping restore Erebor, and fighting against the Darkness that had spread towards their mountain. Dark things came up from the south as well as from the west, from the shadows of Mirkwood. It was a dark time, and soon, that darkness seemed to possess everything. 

When mysterious and dark offers were made to them, evil creatures coming around to sway the dwarves to Sauron’s forces, Gimli went with his father and a small group to Rivendell. Lord Elrond, it was said, was the wisest of all the Eldar yet remaining in Middle Earth. If any could help them, it was he. 

Emerald ring clutched in his hand, Gimli looked down at the precious gift. ‘Should you ever need assistance, should you ever find yourself in want, you have only to speak friend, show this to any of my kind, and you will be cared for.’ Now was the time to collect. If the elves of Rivendell refused council, the red-beard was determined to show the emerald ring for the first time and demand their assistance. 

The travel was long and hard, harder than Gimli remembered. There was much evil along the way, but eventually, after months of toil, they came over the Misty Mountains and towards the hidden valley. They were spotted and taken in by elves soon. They were darker, yet somehow fairer than the elves Gimli remembered in Mirkwood. Their hair was black, rich and deep, and their eyes dark blue. But their faces were paler than their kin in the east, and their presence more commanding. These were High Elves, or so the stories went, yet Gimli could not help but believe them somehow…lacking compared to the two blond elves he had met while in Mirkwood. Surely the boy and his father had been among the High Born as well. 

They were quickly put away for the night in comfortable rooms, and promised to speak with Lord Elrond soon. It was rumored that an envoy from Mirkwood had also come seeking council with the master of the house, making Gimli suspicious. Only bad news came from those dark woods. 

But even as he worried and sneered at the thought of those elves that had treated his father and the Company so ill, he couldn’t help but wonder: was he here? Was the young guard of Mirkwood he had met and cared for so long ago here? And just that thought alone had the dwarf stalling in making any curses against the elves of the Mirkwood. The same elves that had treated him so very kindly. 

But surely the lad was not here. Gimli had seen for himself the protective gleam in the lad’s father’s eyes. That elf lord would not let his son go again so soon. He would not wish for his green leaf to wither away. 

It was disappointing. The dwarf found he would have liked to have met the lad again. At least once more. 

“The elf prince is here,” some of his companions had whispered at breakfast the next morning. “The Elvenking sent his brat to speak with Lord Elrond as well.”

Anger burned among the dwarrow at the thought of one of the Mirkwood royals in their midst. The sins of the Elvenking were still not forgiven. But Lord Elrond, as host, insisted that they meet the elves of the east, so that they could all discuss business later. So, with extreme reluctance, the dwarrow followed their host to meet with their enemies. 

As they walked, fair elven voices laughing came floating towards them. One voice in particular grabbed Gimli’s attention, though he did not know why. When they rounded a corner, he saw rather familiar looking browns and greens. The light leather armor of the Elves of Mirkwood was distinctive, as were the light browns and reds of their hair. But that was not what kept Gimli’s attention. No, it was the pale blond hair, almost silvery in the light, that kept his eye. 

He froze. It couldn’t be. Could it? After all these years? 

The elves flanking the blond all frowned upon seeing the dwarves and muttered something to the blond, who still had his back turned. 

“Prince Legolas,” Lord Elrond called lightly, startling Gimli so badly, he thought he might have a heart attack. 

The blond turned around. A fair, youthful, familiar face greeted the dwarf. The blond bowed his head towards Lord Elrond in acknowledgement. It was him. It was the boy. This was the Elvenprince of Mirkwood? 

But blue-blue eyes, brighter than sapphire, did not stay on the Noldor long. Instead, the clear orbs turned over towards the company of dwarves. The moment the blue met Gimli’s own hazel, the rather stoic face morphed into something beautiful. Suddenly there was not a prince before them. There was only the boy who had thanked Gimli, who had laughed and talked with him, who had merely wanted to get home to his king. His father king. 

“Mellon nín!” the prince exclaimed with the purest joy. 

And as the boy rushed towards him, everyone else around him gawking in shock, Gimli found that even though he should be angry, astonished, he could do nothing but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish:  
> Anno dulu enni- help me  
> Fangon- bearded one  
> iesten- please  
> Be iest lín- as you wish  
> Baw! – No/ Don’t  
> Daro- Stop (lit. Halt)  
> Amman? – why?  
> Noro - Run  
> Tálagor- fast foot (The name is one I made up, not any sort of cannon)  
> Im urui- I’m hot  
> Mas ledhiam- Where are we going?  
> Hîr nín- My lord!  
> Boe enni nestron- I need a healer!


End file.
